Someone to Kill For
by jbosco
Summary: Prequel to Something Sinister in Common. Told from revolving points of view of all involved in the events prior to and following the death of Matthew Walker. Set mid Season 6. Originally written June 2, 2005.
1. Chapter 1

**Title -** Someone To Kill For 1/? 

**Disclaimer** - The TW characters are not mine, of course, just borrowing.

**Summary** - This is a prequel/sequel (yes, both!) to the one parter _Something Sinister in Common 1/1. _It revolves around the events leading up to, surrounding, and following the murder of Matthew Walker. It's told from the revolving, varying points of view of everyone (Bosco, Faith, Sul, Ty, Cruz, etc...) as they all struggle to deal with the trial and the ramifications of Bosco's actions.

**Warnings** - Language, violence...

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The day had been pretty much routine as Bosco and I plodded through the automatic doors at Mercy, having been called to a rape just moments earlier. Bosco hadn't been thrilled to answer the call. But then again, who ever was? The thing was that Bosco hadn't been back on the streets more than an hour before the usual barrage of calls came flooding over our radio. I don't think he expected a break, or even wanted one. Ever since Lieu put him on desk duty for two months after he came back from the hospital, he'd been pleading and prodding to get back out on the streets. I do think, however, that the full brunt of the job really came back and hit him all of a sudden. Like, he had to be reminded that you can sleep through problems, but they'll still be there when you wake up.

Bosco wandered ahead of me, lightly padding his way to the front desk. Me, I lingered behind a half dozen feet. Desk duty may have been hell for Bosco, but I was seriously considering it. I finally trudged up to meet him, just as he finished joking with Proctor about her having ruined his day, or something. I studied her solemn face, and then glanced over at Bosco, asking if he'd still been able to keep up his cheery morale that he'd been trying to since the shift had started. He looked back at me for a couple seconds and frowned before shifting his attention back to Proctor.

She peered at Bosco with a grave look, before glancing over at me with the same forlorn expression. It was a rare look – not the usual look of being temporarily upset at someone else's misfortune that would normally take over our features when on a call like this. It was somewhat familiar, though, and it didn't take too long for me to realize it was the same look Davis and I had gotten when Carlos had been wrongfully accused years earlier, or before that, when Bobby's condition was discovered to be worse than we'd expected. It was an appearance that seemed to have shown up during our careers when someone close to us was hurt, or in trouble.

I shifted my eyes worriedly toward Bosco, who Proctor seemed to be focusing her attention on.

"You couldn't have called Davis, and that new rookie? Fooney, right?" Bosco looked at me for confirmation, and I laughed slightly at his mistake.

"Finney," I corrected, wondering if he'd honestly still not known Brendan's name after eight weeks. Then again, it _was_ Bosco asking.

"Finney, Fooney…same thing," He defended.

He complained about us having been ready to take a lunch when the disheartening call had come over the radio, but I was too busy trying to decode Mary's face to pay much attention to him. The word "lunch", I caught, but it didn't sound as welcoming as it would have normally. The whole situation irked me. Something was up, and even Bosco noticed. His playful interruptions and brief laughs were just fronts he put up to avoid hearing the truth. Shifting nervously back and forth on his feet was also a common aspect of his actions when he sensed something was wrong. I'd seen it when Faith had been shot, and when we had to tell him that Mikey had been killed.

"I called you two because…" Proctor spoke up, but then stopped just as quickly. Bosco glanced at me and then back at her, rocking his heels from side to side - probably wishing he could pull a Dorothy and disappear.

"Because what?" he prompted abruptly.

I stared at his feet. Back, forth, back, forth.

Proctor was unable to finish; she just slid a clipboard under Bosco's fingers and turned and walked away. Bosco glanced at me questioningly, and all I could do was motion for him to look at the paper that lay before his hand, though I knew it was the last thing in the world either of us wanted to do.

I followed his eyes as they gazed down at the sheet of paper - At the room number, then at the name. That's when I saw his mouth slack open a few inches, and the color drain from his face. His voice sounded foreign and unfamiliar as he whimpered my name. He then held the clipboard over his head and then flung it over the counter and on to the tiled floor. I stood unfazed by his actions, but a neighboring nurse cringed as the plastic loudly met the floor next to her and splintered in two.

"Son of a bitch!" he shrieked, directing his stare from the thrown object to down the hall. He whirled around swiftly and started on his search for room 516. I pushed off the counter and followed behind him quickly, hoping to at least act as a mediator between him and any hospital staff he might happen to piss off during his angry rampage through the corridor.

I could feel dozens of eyes on us; people who had frozen in their tracks at the strident, vulgar outburst. Two nurses wheeling a stretcher toward an elevator had come to a halt, and I watched the elevator doors close before they reached it. Instead, their attention was glued to the two of us, but mostly to Bosco as he stormed menacingly along. One poor receptionist had dropped her pen in fright when the clipboard came dangerously close to hitting her. She was glancing around nervously as if someone should call security or something.

_Call security on two cops_, I scoffed to myself. That was a funny thought.

Finally, everyone removed their burning stares from Bosco's back and resumed their activities. I guess they felt relieved that he was heading in the opposite direction. I, on the other hand, was doing all I could to keep up with him and follow his wrath.

We stopped outside the room; the number 516 was labeled above the door in placid white letters. I'd noticed the irony of this before; how each and every door was marked with its own number, in a clean, calm font that seemed to mislead those on the outside and disguise the pain that hid behind the entrance.

Room 516 was familiar – we'd taken reports in that very one a few times over the years. This time, the feeling was different as we stood before the glass window, peering in through a bent blind. The feeling, to me, was one that could never be accurately explained to someone who hadn't experienced it for themselves. It was an unsettling sense of despair, and I knew that Bosco, as he stood next to me, had to have felt the same, and yet a hundred times worse.

He was hunched over, his fists resting on the slanted sill of the window, perhaps aiding him in supporting his weight. It was situations like these where you feel heavier than you've ever felt, and you either need to collapse, or find some sort of standing assistance. I watched him with experienced eyes – a scene of fiery destruction flashed before me, and I reflected back on the night when I lost Tatiana. How I'd hit the pavement so forcefully, my kneecaps seemed to have pleaded beneath my weight. My legs had gone numb and my hand to my mouth, and I'd felt as if a dozen tons of concrete had been emptied onto my shoulders. The feeling had been no different even years before that, when Ty's father had fallen dead right before me.

Looking at Bosco, his eyes already red-rimmed, I didn't imagine that's how he felt, I _knew_ that's how he felt. I ransacked my mind, hoping to find a few words of consolation, but he'd heard it all before. He'd had more tragedy hit this close to home in thirteen years, than I'd had to deal with in thirty-four. So I just remained silent, hoping he'd go in soon before I had to push him.

"What do I do, Sul?" he asked, glancing up at me.

I contorted my face sadly at his question, but more so at his tone. It sounded bleak and helpless – a tone that very rarely laced his voice. It was painful to hear him that way, when - whether it was a practical one or not - he was usually the first to pipe up with a solution.

"Go in," was all I could mutter, and I extended my arm out toward the bordering door.

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I sat on the edge of the bed, studying the patterns of my jeans I'd just pulled on as if their design was something spectacular to scrutinize. But I was just looking for distraction; just some place to look other than at the bland, sterile walls of the confining hospital room where I was sitting, and waiting.  
The room was cold and white, and eerily familiar. I'd taken reports in the very same room. Even the sparse furniture was arranged just as it had always been, and the same insipid painting of a ship at sea still hung on the wall. I peered at it. It decorated about a foot of wall space and was stroked with pale colors. Someone had probably hung it up a long time ago to brighten the mood. It had been a meager attempt.

I shifted my gaze from the painting and down to my feet. I was clicking them nervously against the steel frame. The only thing that had changed, I realized, was that it was me perched on the coarse pallid sheets; my mind in fog. And each time I tried to focus on something else – something as simple as the clock that was posted over the door – my mind would rewind to the attack and ruthlessly replay the events in my head. I shook my head back and forth, hoping I could shake the thought away entirely. When that failed, I closed my eyes tightly. Perhaps if I didn't look at the torn and fraying end of my shirt or at the ominous stain of blood it was adorned with, I could just pretend nothing had happened. If only it were that simple.

I kept my head down and a stare on my feet, letting my hair fall loosely over my face. _What had I done wrong?_ I wondered, squinting my eyes in an effort to keep the oncoming tears from escaping.

_Did I not fight? Kick hard enough? Scream loud enough?_ No. I'd done all of those things, I knew. My mistake had come long before the attack itself.

Through closed eyes, I felt the incident return with the surreal feeling of a flashback. Only did I snap from the haunting recall when I heard the soft click of the door opening, and I slowly looked up to see who was entering. It wasn't difficult - even with my vision blurred by tears, I quickly made out the figure that was creeping toward me. He wasn't an unfamiliar officer as I'd hoped he'd be – one who would simply take the report and let me leave; one who didn't know I was a cop; one who didn't know _me_ - but of all people, it was him that I _needed_ to walk through the door. Because as I sat there, shivering and still slowly tapping my feet, I felt like dissolving into tiny fragments; like crumbling. And I didn't want to crumble alone.

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I peered through the window, angling my eyes to see through the narrow blind and into the room. Bosco was taking tentative steps toward the bed, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously. His mouth was open slightly, but it didn't look like he was saying anything, and neither did she. It figured, though. They had this way of speaking without ever saying so much as a word to the other. It was an ability that had always been beyond Davis and me. We understood each other, sure, but we need words to do so. We just couldn't walk around like mimes all day, glancing in each other's eyes as if they were some sort of northern stars. These two, on the other hand, I believe did exactly that.

I glanced despondently at a passing nurse, and then turned my attention back toward the window. Bosco had stopped himself just a couple feet away, and had stuffed his restless hands into his pocket. His face was hidden because he hung his head, but I'm pretty sure I could have summed up his expression.

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It was a rare instance when I couldn't predict Bosco's actions before they even took place, but this was one of those instances. If I were to have guessed, I'd have said that he'd come barreling through the door at top speed, demanding to know who, what, where and when; and then would set off for vengeance. Instead, though, he stepped toward me indolently, hands in his pockets and his face sporting a frozen and mournful mien. It was one of his uncommon demeanors; the one that was only elicited by something incredibly dispiriting, and I felt guilty knowing the situation had evoked it.

As I sat there, I dreaded an inundation of questions and the request for an explanation. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about it; remember it. I wanted to do just the opposite and forget it – drown it away in a deluge of overdue tears. And I'd never been more thankful that he knew me well enough to know he should hold off on any interrogation. He didn't ask me what, where or when – or even who. Instead he was silent. He gazed at me pensively before pulling me protectively against his chest, assuming the burden of my weight along with his own that it appeared, by his unsteady legs, he was already struggling with. I slid my arms around his neck, using him as a crutch while every muscle in my body seemed to forfeit. I burrowed my head into his shoulder, finally feeling that I could abandon any sign of a brave façade, and cried.

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I shut the back door of the squad after they both climbed out and began walking to the entrance. Midway, Bosco turned hesitantly.

"Thanks, Sul…" he started, trailing off. He was peering down at the sidewalk and tapping his shoe on the cement.

"No problem. And take your time," I motioned to my radio. "I told Central we went 10-63 when we got to Mercy."

He nodded slightly, then raised his head and gave me a weak smile. I returned the nod and stepped off the sidewalk, lumbering back to the opposite side of 55-Charlie where I pulled the driver's door open. I watched them, their hands intertwined, as they turned back to the door. They were confounding to observe - me and Davis had agreed years earlier. The simplest of things could send them at each other's throat, but the most harrowing of tragedies – ones that would split the average person apart – somehow drove them together again.

I kept my gaze on them until they disappeared into his apartment building, and then I slid into my seat, wondering what, if anything, could tear them apart for good.

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I sat awkwardly, my arms pulled around my chest, as I watched him ransack his fridge and finally with three frosty-looking diet sodas. It hadn't been more than twenty minutes ago that I'd answered his predictable "Who?" as we'd left the hospital, and then rode silently with him and Sully to his apartment, dreading further questions during the entire drive. Thankfully, none had been asked. Not for a lack of desire, though, but rather because his teeth had been so tightly clenched, I don't think he could have spoken if he'd tried.

"Catch," he ordered suddenly.

I looked up just as a silver can was barreling toward my face at a dangerous rate of speed. Reflexively, my hand shot up in defense as if the imposing object were a skel of some sort, and swiftly caught it out of midair. I balanced the cold can on my knee, running my fingers over its cold condensation, expecting an apology of some kind for having just nearly knocked me out. Nothing. Instead he marched over, sipping his drink in one hand and waving the remaining can in front of my face.

"You think Sully likes this?"

"What?" I asked, pulling my head back and annoyed that now I'd nearly be struck twice by an explosive can of soda.

"Does Sully drink this? Diet?"

I shook my head. "You known him thirteen years and you don't know if he drinks Diet Coke?"

"No. Do you?"

"No," I confessed, keeping my lips pursed. The onset of his infectious laugh, however, easily broke my solemn expression and I joined in briefly. I knew he was only trying to lighten the mood, and it had actually worked to some degree, until the weight of the situation proved too imposing to alleviate with a joke.

"Probably not, huh?" Bosco sighed, meandering to the counter where he relinquished what would have been Sully's refreshment. "I don't even really like Diet either. Ma brought it over though."

I pulled my knee to my chest and rested my chin on it, his words fading into a collage of muddled words that I couldn't make out. Ignoring my objections, my mind drifted back to the previous evening. The entire ordeal had dwindled down to a ruthless onslaught of haunting images. And through the struggle, a glinting badge would always deter my sights from his face - though I knew clear well who he was - and the gun he'd been wielding beside my temple had serviced to shut me up.

From the corner of my eye, I caught notice of an impending strong and threatening arm – fingers laced around a shimmering silver object. While in any other instance I'd have faced the threat and fought back, I instead cowered and raised my hands before my face in a feeble attempt to shield myself.

"Hey," a familiar voice broke in. Cautiously, I snapped from what had proven to be another flashback, and opened my eyes. I found myself staring into Bosco's face, a concerned expression spreading over his features.

"You okay?"

I nodded quickly, hoping he wouldn't question me, and squinted my eyes together to abort yet another surge of tears that were threatening to spill over. He took the seat beside me and I felt the cushions sink beneath his weight, drawing us closer.

"I was just passing you this. You dropped it," he told me, handing me my Diet Coke. I pulled it suspiciously from his grasp. It was silver, and shimmering. I shook my head, feeling as though I was going completely insane.

"You want me to stay?"

"What?" I asked, looking up from the drink.

"Do you want me to stay? I can stay," he reached for his radio. "Sully!"

"No," I pushed his hand from his mouth. "You don't have to stay. I'm fine."  
I turned away, fearing I'd already become an encumbrance.

"Never mind," he mumbled into his radio. He stood up. "I'll get off early."

I shook my head. "I don't need to stay here."

"Yeah, you do," he told me flatly, his tone exact; more of an order than advice.

"No, I don't," I repeated, rising to my feet, though my voice spoke an entirely different story. It sounded weak and helpless, and it quivered with every word. I wasn't fooling anyone, least of all him. If I'd ever needed him, I did now - and more than ever.

"I don't want you to be _alone_," he declared, walking to the door. "I have something to do back at the House."

His voice cracked, and his hands clenched. He was resuming that silent, icy persona, and it was a much more dangerous state of mind than when he outwardly displayed his rage. Instead, he bottled it up inside of him; letting his outside appearance evidence nothing more than a cold stare. But eventually, all of his anger and immeasurable frustration would come out in the most volatile way. I'd seen it before when he'd left Rose's abusive boyfriend with multiple broken ribs and countless other fractures.

In his current state, Bosco was a time bomb.

"Bosco," I warned. "Don't do anything you're gonna regret."

"I'm only gonna regret it if I _don't_ do something," he faced me one last time before pulling the door open and then yanking it shut as he left. I jumped, startled by the slam, and my heartbeat sped up rapidly, as if trying to escape the confines of my chest.

I'd mistaken the arm of a man I trusted more than anyone else, for the monster that had attacked me; and a can of Diet Coke for a knife, or some other weapon.

A door had closed and my heart was pounding its own way into shock.

If a part of me felt obligated to rush after Bosco and dissuade him of whatever vengeful plan he held, a stronger part of me was with him all the way.

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"Oh, look," came a snide voice.

Bosco and I had not taken more than three steps into the House when, who else, but Officer Finney marched up and found something with which to incriminate us.

"How was your two-hour lunch?" he continued, glancing at both of us, and then to Davis who was coming up behind him. Davis looked amused, but his face fell when he caught my expression. He widened his eyes, hinting for an explanation. I raised my eyebrows in response, indicating I'd elaborate "Later", and he nodded.

So maybe _we_ didn't need words all the time.

"Mind your own business, Finney," I growled. "You two aren't doing a helluva lot of good not bein' out on the streets, are you?"

"We got a prisoner," he said proudly, beaming. "Davis just put him in Holding."

I glanced at Davis, as if to confirm his account. He nodded and shrugged.

"Two-hour lunch?" Lieu asked, hanging up the phone. We all turned in the direction of his voice in unison.

"Yeah," Finney glanced at me. "55-David's been ducking calls for two hours."

I rolled my eyes, receiving a half-hearted grin from Ty as he hid behind Finney, then shook my head and sighed. Brendan looked like an eight-year-old, pointing his finger at someone who had just called him a name, or stolen his toy. He had a lot to learn.

And how to tell time might be a good place to start, because we hadn't been two hours.

"And in return," I defended, motioning to Holding. "You got our collar." I remembered the call we'd received for the fleeing thief, which had been much closer to 82nd, than where 55-Charlie had been at the time.

"Is that right?" Lieu interrupted, referencing Finney's accusation.

I looked at Bosco, who was eyeing Finney with a deadlier-than-usual, pissed off expression. I didn't doubt that he was silently chastising Davis for not making him keep his mouth shut. He finally broke his stare away from Brendan, and slowly swept his hands through the air and toward Swersky, indicating I'd gotten the honors of telling him why we took so long. I shook my head in objection, and he promptly returned with a fierce nod. We continued exchanging angry facial signals until I shrugged in defeat and watched him saunter glumly up the stairs.

I ambled several more feet up to Lieu's desk, wishing I knew more about the incident than just the name of a faceless dirty cop. And wondering what the hell good we were doing if we couldn't even protect one of our own.

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I waited until Bosco emerged from the locker room before tentatively following him down the stairs.

"Cruz is taking me home, Lieu," he called, tossing his sweatshirt over his shoulder as we passed Swersky's desk. Lieu responded with a sympathetic "Okay", but eyed us with a quizzical look. Suspicion, I'm sure. I didn't doubt it looked odd that I was Bosco's chosen taxi, when we'd been anything but on good terms for the past year. Civil terms, maybe, but that's about it.

So why I was trailing him out the door to act as an accomplice in his "revenge-for-my-partner" mission, I wasn't exactly sure. I had a lingering hint in the back of my brain, though, and it was a reason I'd never say aloud. The crime itself had hit pretty close to home, so I assumed maybe that helped to power my feet in walking, or my hand to turn the ignition and drive to 42nd, but it wasn't entirely my incentive.

Part of me had always adored Bosco. It wasn't love, though. But had I ever loved someone before, besides my sister, I might have had a better idea. Either way, he'd made sure I knew that if you love someone, you don't use them, blame them and shoot the person they care about. So instead, I just considered it a combination of admiration and jealousy. I'd always been envious of his partnership with Yokas, and I don't doubt anything resentful I'd done two years ago was a blatant attempt to divide the two. At one point, I thought I'd succeeded. But it was when they reunited even stronger that I realized it would take more than my bitter words and an Anti-crime unit to drive them away from each other.

They had something I'd never experienced – a bond.

Someone to love and someone to love you back.

Someone to live, die or kill for.

When Bosco was nearly killed that night at Mercy, I suddenly didn't find myself competing anymore. And when I found myself planting evidence and bunking in Rikers for a night, it wasn't because I "don't rat out cops". It was me attempting to salvage the only real relationship I'd ever witnessed; and maybe it was mixed with a bit of profound idolization for what they held.

So I guess I was doing the same thing as I braked in front of the redbrick apartment complex on 42nd.

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With each heavy, hasty step, I surveyed the sidewalks, balconies and windows for any sign of a witness, or witnesses. I'd seen none as I sprinted from the alley near 42nd, but I was nervous as I approached a busier street.  
They say when you really need to, you can find the strength enough to 'lift a car off a baby'. I just prayed the same would apply in the form of speed before I ran into some tourist, their face sporting a perplexed expression, inquiring about why I was frantically fleeing down the street, my clothes sodden with blood – as if they'd never seen such a sight in New York City. There was a worse scenario, however, and that was why I remained on the lookout for any idling RMPs that might happen to be the present home of a bored cop.

My mind still seemed to be caught in an ever-increasing fog as I slowly neared closer to my apartment. Despite the number of skels I'd pursued, running miles and miles at top speed was still an extreme challenge. I really had little idea how far we'd driven out of our precinct, but if I'd asked my legs as they finally brought me up to the entrance to my apartment complex, they'd have begged to say thousands of miles. My head would've probably agreed had it not been for the invasion of the Battle of Bunker Hill that was being fought in place of my brain.

I gripped the door tightly, letting it assume much of my weight, and then looked at the discouraging flights of stairs looming ahead of me, as if challenging me to even try and make it to my apartment. It was a disheartening feeling, and it reminded of when I'd thought of where I must have been when the attack occurred – working the desk at the House. Answering an occasional phone ring, arguing with Swersky, and expressing my elation for getting back on the streets the next day to any passing cop that would listen. And completely unaware of what was happening to her.

I reached for the banister and with a heave of my chest, began to trudge up the stairs, expending the last of my energy. But I couldn't shake the thought, as I struggled up each step, that had we been together in 55-David – it never would've happened.

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I lowered the radio from my lips, relieved that he hadn't waited around to confirm whether or not I'd actually called it in. But he'd been so frantic that he also hadn't considered how difficult it would be for me to explain why I was hovering over a body in some deserted alley, miles outside our precinct.

The sun had nearly completely disappeared as I stood there; his footsteps crunching on the alley sand becoming less and less audible. I turned and watched him round a distant corner and vanish before I took one last wistful glance at the lifeless heap that lay a few feet before me, then swiped Bosco's fingerprint-laced baton from the ground and took off toward the car in the opposite direction.

I may have been dishonest and deceitful. I may have cut corners; been insubordinate. But as I slid into the driver's seat, turned the ignition and peeled away from 42nd, I was all of those things _and_ an accessory to murder.

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The afternoon had come and gone and even when the digital alarm clock perched on his TV revealed 7:15, I still found myself doing the same thing I'd started doing just a half hour after he'd left.

Cleaning.

There wasn't even anything to clean - the place was uncommonly neat and orderly. So I just paced around, arranging and rearranging things that were already okay in their place; sweeping and dusting where the floor was already spotless. It was a nervous habit, really. Dwelling on the cleanliness of an apartment was a much less daunting task than sitting and reflecting on the preceding night.

For the most part, rushing around and making sure everything was immaculate did help to keep my mind from going astray; from reverting to its unsettling flashbacks. But I knew that as soon as I lay down, the memories would come back to violently haunt me. It was that realization that periodically drove me to frustrated tears.

I passed the window for the fifth time on my in-depth search for something – anything - that might happen to be out of place. Looking through the blinds, I noticed the sun had nearly completely disappeared, replacing the sky with nothing but a charcoal grey. I shivered and promptly sought out more lighting; a desk light, a table lamp, the bathroom light. I found myself flicking them all on, and silently praying Bosco had really been able to get off early as he'd promised. The last way I wanted to be, especially as the day faded into the night, was alone.

Once I'd successfully lit the entire apartment up in an artificial glow, I crept back to my own self-instated job of maid duties. I noticed a frame perched on one of his unused speakers, cradled into a corner. It was the first item I'd discovered that showed any trace of dust, indicating it had sat in its spot for quite some time. Thinking back, I did remember catching it out of the corner of my eye, but not once had I come over and picked it up for a closer look as I was doing now. I turned it over in my hand, running my finger over the black wood frame and over the glass, revealing a photograph beneath the thin layer of settled soot-like dust.

It didn't take me long to recognize. It was a picture Sully had snapped of Bosco and I perched on barstools inside of Haggerty's, and I could tell from the shirt I was wearing that the photo was at least five years old. Bosco had two fingers held up behind my head, and I was rolling my eyes because I'd suspected he'd do something immature to ruin the potentially normal picture. Ty was behind us, stretching his head into the camera's view, and laughing. A part of Sully's finger must have slipped into the path of the lens, because a white glare covered most of the upper right corner.

I couldn't help but smile at our comical expressions, and for a minute it helped to alleviate the pain that lingered inside my head. What I was most amused by was the fact that Bosco had taken the time to put the picture in a frame and set it up. Especially because, noticing the walls, it was the one of the very, very few pictures he even had framed.

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_My breaths were ragged as I burst loudly into my apartment, effete from my run. I ignored her burning stare and stumbled into the bathroom, collapsing onto my knees on the cold tile. _

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I was still clutching the picture frame when he burst through the door, panting loudly. My plans of commenting on the photograph were interrupted when I turned and caught sight of him limping his way into the bathroom; his shirt clinging to his back and saturated with sweat. I stood for nearly an entire minute, in shock I assume, trying to make sense of the situation, before I dropped the frame to the floor and rushed after him.

The water was running loudly into the tub when I got to the bathroom door, and the hot water had steam billowing from the faucet and into his face. He was sitting in what looked liked a very uncomfortable, disoriented position. His arms were languidly draped over the side of the shower's edge, one leg beneath him, and the other splayed across the floor and encased in soaked jeans. I tenderly stepped forward, kneeling in front of him. A sick feeling gathered in the pit of my stomach as I placed a hand on his still-heaving chest, and then pulled it back. Blood stained my palm, my fingers – my entire hand and wrist. It was then that I realized he must be injured – and I panicked. I panicked just like I'd done three years earlier when the psycho McKinley had shot him; at Mercy when he'd been shot, or like every other time I thought he'd been wounded. Just completely lost it. I forgot what had happened to me, and forgot why I was even there with him.

I forgot every single thing there was to remember, and started to cry.

I ran my hands under his drenched t-shirt, peeling the article from his skin and over his head, leaving it to drown on the floor in a shallow smear of blood. He only gazed at me wistfully as I continued to slide my hands down his shoulders, chest, and over his skin - searching for bullet hole, a knife wound, _anything._

Having found no evidence of injury, I looked up at him and clasped my hands around his jaw, wiping away beads of sweat with my finger, and willing words from his mouth.

_Talk. Please. Say something!_

I needed him to speak, to say something. His glazed eyes looked nearly as soulless as they did that evening at the hospital, when I'd desperately tried to revive him; and the way he was staring vacantly ahead made me feel he was going to lose consciousness at any minute.

"Not mine," he finally breathed, hanging his hands beneath the running water. "It's not mine."

There was dark spatter on the legs of his jeans – hundreds of tiny droplets, soaked into the denim. His sneakers were covered in red just the same, and my handprints had made smears in the diluted red that coated his chest. Yet there was no wound. No gunshot, no stab entrance. Nothing.

I began to open my mouth and question his words, but put two and two together before I could finish, and then collapsed into his lap in a conflicting mix of relief and worry.

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	2. Chapter 2

"Bosco," Sully greeted, looking up as I entered the locker room.

I watched his face fall as he looked my features up and down. I imagined I must not have appeared all that presentable. I dropped my coat onto a nearby bench and stepped in front of the mirror. Had I not expected myself to appear so effete and unkempt, I'd have leapt backward at the sight. My hair was tousled and greasy, my eyes bloodshot and laced with dark circles. It only figured - I hadn't gotten any sleep the night before. I'd spent the majority of the time inhaling toxic cleaning astringents; mostly lung-burning bleach as I'd poured them down my shower drain and on my bathroom floor, concealing the presence of blood. It was a weak attempt, and I knew without a doubt if I were to be caught it wouldn't keep me from prison. In fact, the conspicuous scents of cleaning agents were probably more incriminating than the blood itself. It wasn't even an effort to destroy any evidence in such an event; it was more to gain closure for myself. To pretend, for me, that it had never happened. That nothing in the past two days had happened.

The clothes I'd gone to bed in were the same ones I was wearing, and had my sense of smell not long since been destroyed by the chemicals, I'd probably have smelled the detergents all over me.

I'd barely stayed asleep more than an hour or two; the graphic event from the past evening ruthlessly replaying itself over and over in my mind as if it were a tape on repeat.

"You look like hell," he remarked, watching me from behind.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Didn't get that much sleep last night." I felt his eyes burning into the back of my skull, trying to read me; trying to elicit the truth.

"How's Faith?" He questioned, still keeping his gaze.

I shrugged and ran a hand through my hair, trying to flatten the areas where it mutinously flared towards the ceiling. "Not good." I replied flatly. In the mirror, I saw him nod slowly. It wasn't until after I'd spoke that I realized how cold I'd sounded. I softened my voice and turned around, leaning my back against the sink. "She wanted to come to work today but I wouldn't let her."

"No?" he asked. "How'd that go over?"

"Not good," I told him, letting the sink absorb my weight; giving my feet a rest. "She's pissed. Said she'll come back 'whenever the hell she feels like it'."

Sully laughed, attempting to lighten the mood somewhat. "That's her in a nutshell."

"She's not here, though," I pointed out, smiling a little. "She just didn't want me know she was taking my advice." I dropped my expression gradually back into its newly-discovered permanent frown. Dozens and dozens of car accidents, pile-ups, shootings, kidnappings and countless other tragedies had littered my career. This incident, however, topped the list of the unbearable. And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't even considered the worst. But to me, it was beyond the worst. It was a tragedy far worse than I'd ever experienced. And she hadn't even died.

I did continue to smile inwardly, somewhat, amused at the fact that to some extent she did listen to me; took my advice. She had to make it clear she didn't want to first, of course, but then she'd listen.

Sully nodded. "You know, I was wondering," he started "Is this Walker guy...Matt Walker? From the 38th?"

I nodded. "Yeah…" Well he was Matt Walker from the 38th, anyway. Now he was an unidentifiable John Doe from the city morgue. "Why?"

Sully shrugged. "I don't know. The name really rings a bell, you know? Like I've seen him before. What's he look like?"

"Ah…" I hesitated, trying to control a powerful urge that craved to tell him that the last time I saw Walker he looked like a pile of inedible factory meat with an odd-looking face, but that it was difficult to tell because he was coated five times over with a liquid that eerily resembled blood. Somehow, I managed to refrain myself, but probably only because Sully jumped in again with his own description.

"Tall, dark-hair, strong. Little older than you, I think?" he asked, waiting to see if I'd confirm it.

"Yeah," I nodded, glancing down at my feet as I recalled the prior night. "Yeah that's him…"

A quizzical look seemed to fall over his face. "No kiddin'…" he trailed off.

"What, you knew him?" I asked, unaware of the suspiciousness my past-tense words may have given off.

"Yeah," Sully continued, not taking note of my error. "Used to anyway. Me an' Ty's dad used to have lunch with him during our shifts. He'd meet us there." He shrugged. "Back then he was still in the academy, hardly nineteen I think. Real anxious to get out on the street by himself."

I frowned. I could not possibly be that unlucky, could I? To have murdered someone actually known by those of the five-five? Quickly, I shrugged it off. Either way I didn't give a shit; didn't care if he was revered by the entire city. To me he'd just been a nauseating excuse for a person, and may as well have been the same scum he and his partner arrested every day.

"You friends with him?" I asked, hoping they hadn't been, but trying to convince myself that I didn't care either way.

Sully shook his head. "Not really. I mean, Tyrone knew him from somewhere. A friend's son or something, but we weren't all that close. There was always somethin' about him that seemed off to me. Somethin' not right."

"Like what?" I prompted curiously, looking up.

"I don't know, exactly," Sully continued, squinting his eyes as if trying to remember. "Whatever it was, it just used to make me nervous, you know. That someday he was gonna be out there with a gun."

I shifted my weight against the sink and watched him take a seat on the closest bench. "You ever say anything?" I asked.

"I think Ty kind of sensed it too," he replied, shaking his head. "But there was nothin' we coulda done. Not like we coulda gone to the academy and said 'Hey, this kid seems a little off, you should fail him', you know? I mean, he was a natural at the range; at the books too." Sully sighed. "So we kinda lost touch after awhile. He graduated the academy with flyin' colors, next I hear he's at the 38th – been there ever since. I just figured we'd been too wary about everything - that it was all in our head. We never really talked to him after that. I don't think Ty ever saw him again. Kid didn't even come to Ty's funeral after he was shot. Just kind of up and disappeared. I did run into his partner about a year ago, though. He was still doin' good on the job, apparently, would be a senior on the force by now like you and Faith. Thirteen or fourteen years, I think. Never really trusted his partner either, though. Just seemed like the two of them could really put on a cover, like, they weren't who everyone thought they were."

"That's for sure," I muttered. I slid up on the sink a bit more, hoping it wouldn't fracture under my weight. I took in Sully's words, intrigued and yet unsettled at the fact that he used to know Walker. For a moment, we both sat in silence.

"So have they taken him in yet?" Sully spoke up, catching me off guard with his question.

I froze physically, but my mind was deftly accustomed to being surprised with questions – mostly from being questioned out on the streets – and my brain innately went into an all too common mode. The search-for-an-excuse-as-fast-as-you-can-mode. But this wasn't Lieu. Or worse, IAB. This was Sully. Sully was no stranger to street justice, and he'd find out sooner or later.

Everyone would find out sooner or later. In fact, thinking harder, half of the shift had probably turned on their TVs at least once earlier in the day. If the cops had overlooked the bloody heap scattered not far from Walker's empty apartment, then the 38th was in desperate need of a new police force.

Still shifting my weight against the sink basin, I sucked in a deep breath. I wasn't sure why I was so nervous, but I supposed preparing to confess to pre-meditated murder could get anyone anxious, even if the person you're about to tell is someone who you've installed an unspeakable amount of trust in.

I glanced down at my feet, periodically shifting my gaze back to his burning, waiting stare, and began to speak, my words faltering as I struggled to organize them. "Ah, um…"

Sully took a sudden step toward me, and I lurched backward, nearly toppling into the sink. "Bosco…." He began, his voice an ominous combination of warning and concern.

"She didn't file a report."

He stared at me blankly. "She what?"

I shrugged, trying to minimize the conversation. End it. Or just stall. "Said she didn't want to make a big deal out of it. Draw more attention."

"Big deal? Bosco, this is a big deal!" Sully exclaimed, edging closer and raising his voice.

I raised mine louder, so that I could speak over him. "I know!" I shouted. "I know. I know more than any of you that this is a big deal!"

Sully lowered his voice. "Bosco, his son of a bitch has to pay for----"

"He did pay, Sully!" I shrieked, whisking my coat off the bench and impulsively sending my fist against the nearest locker. The loud reverberation of vibrating and clanging metal rung throughout the almost-empty room. We stared at each other for a second, the sudden clamor scaring us both into silence. I ignored the searing pain in my knuckles, feeling as though I didn't deserve to tend to it. It was merely an inconvenience when compared to what Faith had to be feeling. So I left it hanging at my side, throbbing.

I lowered my voice to a whisper and continued looking Sully straight in the eye. "He did pay." I repeated.

He looked back askance, but had no time to respond before the door swung open and Davis walked in, looking at me with the same forlorn, pitiful expression that Sully had greeted me with. I didn't need the pity; I didn't need the condolences, and I didn't need the comforting. Well, I needed them, I knew; but I didn't deserve them. There was someone else in much greater need of the support.

"How you holdin' up man?" Davis inquired, stepping a bit closer to me. I could tell he was genuinely concerned, but all I wanted was for the two of them to disappear.

"I'm not the one who---" I began angrily, though he quickly cut me off.

"I know. I'm sorry, man, I just…Sorry. So you saw the news, right?"

"What?" I snapped my head up.

"Yeah, they found, uh, um…"

I studied his face, reading as much as I could off his worried expression. If he thought I was going to finish the sentence, he was wrong. I wasn't going to offer a name.

He motioned his hands around, still struggling to find the right words.

"They found a body. A cop. From the 38th," he blurted out finally. "Thought it was Walker. The ME confirmed it about an hour ago."

Davis stopped and sighed exasperatedly, then shifted his eyes from me to Sully and back, a confounded expression growing. I glanced over and met Sul's eyes, which were growing wider by the second. I could almost see his brain putting two and two together as he calculated my previous words and the news that Ty had just given us. Finally he opened his mouth to speak, but was silent. I nodded at Davis, then, still clutching my coat, raced to the door without saying a word. I caught a last look at his horrified face, and then disappeared.

----------------------------------------------------

I slowly came out of a foggy subconscious, having had woken myself up with my own kicking. Struggling. It took a good minute or more for me to realize that my attacker had donned the appearance of three heavy blankets, and was pinning me to the bed. In one last swift kick, I tore the covers from my legs and ankles and watched them collapse into a heap on the floor, then hugged my knees to my chest; shivering in spite of the warm afternoon sunlight that was pouring through the window. I sighed loudly, comforted by the sound of a voice, even if it was simply my own. I looked cautiously around the room, then climbed off the bed and padded gingerly out to the kitchen, still surveying the apartment for any signs of unwelcome life.

"Boz?" I called hopefully, gripping the fridge door. Then catching notice of a nearby clock, I realized he'd long since left for work, as the digital numbers read 3:45. The earlier afternoon quickly flooded back to me after that, and I remembered how we'd argued about me going to work. I'd told him over and over that I was ready; that staying home would simply drive me crazy. He'd been adamant, however, in not letting me. Truth be told, he was right. I wasn't ready to go back. I wasn't sure how long it would be before I was. But what I was more afraid of than going back to work prematurely, was staying here alone.

After giving in to his request to avoid work for now, I'd angrily stomped into his room, crying, and slammed the door for good measure. I had felt like a defiant teenager, demonstrating her resentment toward an instated rule. Bosco hadn't left me on that note, thankfully, but did shortly after I promised him I was okay. After he walked out, I'd rushed to the door to ensure it was locked, and then did the same for both windows. I'd tried to read and watch TV, but I simply couldn't focus. By three, I found myself curled up on his bed, squinting my eyes in a desperate attempt to sleep away the pain. I'd been confronted however, with dreams that had only magnified it.

I peered into the refrigerator, scanning the shelves for something to drink. I spotted a cold water bottle and snatched before making my way to the couch where I sat down. Glancing across the room, I studied each latch on the front door. Locked.

"You're crazy…" I muttered to myself, sensing the paranoia that was yet to die down inside me. There was no reason to be so guarded; Walker was dead. But somehow, as I stared around the lonely room, I didn't find the fact very comforting. I felt watched. Stalked. And unsafe. Suddenly, I leapt from my seat and dove for the remote, fidgeting around with the controls until the TV screen blinked, and turned on. I slammed the volume button, hoping the sound of other people would be of some reassurance.

I settled back into the cushions, surfing the channels for nothing in particular, except noise. Talking. When I reached the local news channel, I caught footage of vivid yellow police tape closing off what looked like an alley-way; uniforms buzzed around, but their voices were muted. The screen panned back to a dark-haired reporter who looked staid, and was speaking matter-of-factly.

"Police have now confirmed that the body of a thirty-nine year old man discovered this morning in an alley off 42nd, _is_ that of New York Police Officer Matt Walker, a veteran of the 38th precinct for over ten years….."

I opened my mouth as the true realization of what he had done hit me full-force. I knew what he'd done; the blood, the confession. But I guess that hearing it from someone else – seeing it on the news – was the real confirmation. Before, I could pretend it didn't matter – that nobody would notice he was even gone, and if they did, they wouldn't miss him; wouldn't care. But as I watched the live coverage, I realized just how real the situation was. I was suddenly realizing exactly what had happened the night before; exactly what he'd done for me.

It reminded me of shattering glass, of blood. Of single shots and then of water, clouded with more blood. Of Cruz and of IAB.

The sharp ring of the phone jolted me from my teary-eyed stare, and I pulled my gaze from the TV, standing to retrieve it and wiping my eyes as I did – as if the absence of tears would make my voice sound less shaky. I pressed the receiver to my ear, half-dreading the voice on the other end.

I squeaked out a chary hello, then listened to nervous breathing on the other end until I finally got a response.

"Faith?"

"Boz?" I choke out, half questioning his identity; half overwhelmed with relief. The sudden thought of him in haunting orange, trapped behind a cell door flashed through my mind.

The TV was still loudly blaring, having had switched to a grey-haired women, sobbing loudly. Walker's mother I presumed, but I could make out little of what she had to say.

"Faith? Hey,"

"Hey," I paused, unsure of what to say. The loud crying in the background and the branded image of him imprisoned was a tearing combination. Never had I felt so overwhelmed. "Aren't you….at…work?"

"No," he said, still whispering. I didn't like the way he was speaking so lowly. His voice lacked reassurance; it lacked confidence…it lacked…_Bosco_. "I'm almost to the apartment, I just wanted you to know it was me so that when I…"

I jumped as the locks on the door turned and clicked, and the door creaked open. My reflexes had long since rocketed into overdrive, and before I could put two and two together, I screamed and dropped the receiver, watching as plastic splintered from the sides. Reluctantly, I tore my head up to confront whoever had stepped in.

Bosco was gazing at me, shifting his stare from me to the phone that I'd violently flung to the floor, and then to the TV, whose screen still sported a "Breaking News" leaf. He held his open cell phone by his ear, and was slowly lowering it.

I knew that my expression must have been one of sheer terror, because he was looking at me with wide eyes, full of concern and confusion, and I followed his stares back and forth to the TV, my mouth opened in a slight gape.

"Bosco…" I murmured, positive that I was completely losing it. For the past two days, every noise made me jump, every phone ring made me scream, the darkness made me constantly look over my shoulder…a door simply opening made me tremble so much that I could feel my legs buckling from under me.

"Faith…" he said questioningly, still watching me as I slid down to the carpet; my hand that had held the phone shaking. His voice was genuine, but sounded nervous and guarded. He closed the door behind him suddenly, and once again I jumped, sending me the last few inches down to the floor, and into tears.

-------------------------------------------------------------

I turned the key in the door, then pushed it open gently, caught off guard by a loud, terrified scream and the sound of crumpling plastic. Looking up, I saw her standing in a somewhat slouched position, staring at the broken phone laying a few feet away on floor. She seemed unfazed by the loud talking that was blaring from the television, and slowly glanced up to face me. Her eyes were wide, but seemed to soften when she realized it was me. My heart ached at the realization that she had probably thought I was somebody else and was terrified because of it.

I hadn't given her much notice of my entrance, I guessed, when we were on the phone.

She still appeared frantic, however, as I stood there - too shocked by the entire past two days' sequence of events to move or say anything. All I could do was peer at her horrified expression, and then to the TV; the volume turned up so loud, that my ancient speakers crackled under the pressure. A cool air from the hallway brushed against my back, and realizing the door was still ajar, I turned and slammed it. Lately, having someone behind me was especially unsettling.

I didn't realize how loudly I'd closed it until she let out another shriek and collapsed onto the floor; overdue tears pouring down her face.

"Oh…god," I stammered, dropping both my cell phone and keys and racing to her side. "Faith….I'm sorry…"

I collected her into my arms, whispering, and hoping to console her. It was clear, now, that she was simply worsening. Everything had taken its toll on her; as it had me. I was no better, and we were both a complete wreck. It was like trying to put out fire with fire. It was hopeless.

"Look, Faith," I ordered, lifting her head from my arms. "Look. See? It's fine."

She cautiously raised her head, still clutching onto me as if we were dangling from the edge of a cliff.

I strained across the floor carefully, reaching for the remote without making her let go.

"Let's turn this down…." I whispered, pressing the volume buttons. The frantic voices were still drilling into my head. I guess they weren't all that loud, really, but I was running on an hour's worth of sleep and bleach fumes. Everything was louder…so loud…and so bright.

"Why are you home?" she questioned, the crying having stopped somewhat. Her face was now etched with nervousness, amidst what looked like a bit of relief.

I shrugged. "Didn't feel good."

"Why not?" She reached up and placed a hand on my forehead, frowning.

Again, I just shrugged, staring ahead at the TV, the voices now inaudible murmurs. "Just…felt…sick."

Killing someone takes a lot out of you. I figured she'd be the first to know.

"You smell like...bleach," she pointed out flatly, following my stare to the TV.

"Yeah, well this wasn't exactly the scene of the crime. Didn't have any evidence to _plant_…so I had to clean instead…"

"What?"

"You know what I mean…." I said, my voice hinted with anger, but quiet. I couldn't help feeling a little pissed that I had to hear the truth from Cruz, of all people, as we argued over somebody half-dead.

She just nodded slowly. I wasn't sure if it was because she realized what I was getting at, and didn't want to explain; or if she was slowly building up her extensive list of on why she'd kept me in dark for so long, only to let it all out in one angry, flustered sentence.

She pointed to the TV, changing the subject, at an older woman with brownish-grey hair who was saying something into a microphone. The volume was now to low for us to hear what she was saying. All we could see were tears dripping from her tear-stained eyes.

"That's his mother," she informed. "They keep playing the same clip of her crying…over and over…."

I nodded coldly. "Damn shame."

I didn't take my eyes off the TV; instead continued staring straight ahead at the woman, my eyes stinging with tears, but remorseless. I could feel Faith's eyes burning into the side of me, but I pretended I didn't notice.

"Sully and Davis know," I said finally.

She said nothing, just kept looking at me, taking in the information.

"What about Mann? They know about him?" I asked, watching her shrug out of the corner of my eye.

"Yeah," she sighed.

I nodded briskly. "Hm. Everyone but me, I guess, huh?" I looked at her and laughed bitterly.

She started to retort when the door suddenly rattled from an imperious knock. And then another.

Had she not been so desperately attached to me, she'd have jumped clear through the roof.

"Don't get it," she pleaded, tears welling up in her eyes again.

Silently, I flicked off the TV and started to gather myself to my feet, still gripping the remote tightly…as if it might adopt all my fear and frustration. "I have to….it might be……" I started, then realized exactly who it _could_ be. "Ah…shit.."

I paced in a circle and ran my hand through my hair, feeling it collect a greasy residue. "Shit…shit…." I muttered; my voice fraught with desperation. In about a millisecond, I was going to join her in crying.

I could take little more. I knew too much; I'd done too much. I just couldn't handle it.

In a bout of aggravation, I flung the remote against the door; listening as it collided just as another more impatient knock came from the other side.


	3. Chapter 3

I watch him as he stepped toward the door. For a second, I felt confident things would be okay. But in the next, I was again overburdened with the sickening sense that whoever was pounding furiously on the door hadn't come to deliver good news.

"Bosco…don't…" I pleaded, pulling myself to my feet and wiping away stray tears.

He whirled around, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What do you want me to do, then, Faith? You tell me not to answer it, but you don't tell me what to do!"

I just shook my head and looked down at the floor. Whoever it was, would have to be deaf to have not figured out we were inside; with Bosco's yelling and all.

"Shut up, then, at least! You--"

He stared at me for a few minutes, unresponsive, before throwing his hands up again in defeat. "Fuck it," he muttered, approaching the door.

----------------------------------------- //

Bosco had left me there, standing before my locker, gazing at a perplexed Ty, who was gawking at me with a look demanding of answers. There was little I could do to look less confounded myself, and we probably stared at each other – our expressions mirror images – and didn't say a word.

Finally Ty spoke up. I'm certain his father's logic had been pretty well-implemented into his head before Tyrone had died, because he never missed a beat.

"Sully if they find---"

"I know…" I mumbled slowly. The words seemed to roll from my tongue like beads of water; I hardly heard myself speaking. Guess I was still taking in the news.

I knew what Davis was thinking. And it was pretty ironic. It was getting more and more difficult for me to recall the nervous rookie I'd trained six years earlier; the one concerned of dirty cops and defending oblivious civilians from our shortcuts and street justice. Somewhere over the years, we'd transformed him.

He wasn't going to see eye-to-eye with Walker's family. It was like Ty to be sympathetic, but forgiving in such a situation? Perhaps six years ago, but not anymore. I guess like the rest of us, he saw that Walker's actions made him deserving.

"I'm gonna catch up with him, Sul," he informed me and headed to the door. "I'm gonna see… if there's anything I can do…" He seemed to hesitate with his words, as if didn't really think there was much he could do.

I didn't really see a light at the end of this tunnel, either. Faith escaping a murder charge had been miracle enough. And Bosco had far used up too many of his in the past.

I wanted to object as Ty pulled open the door. I wanted him to wait; didn't want him to get involved. The more he knew, the worse for us. But simultaneously, I knew, that neither of us could ever abandon those two, or turn our backs on them.

So I just stood there, still gazing ahead blindly at nothing much in particular, and waved him out. I wasn't sure exactly what he thought he could do.

All I could think about was Chevchenko. And the gun he'd never fired at me.

---------------------------------------------------------------- //

I took the steps two-by-two as I jogged up the steps. After leaving Sully, I'd scanned the House upstairs and down looking for Bosco, and when I'd finally found no sign, I had consulted with Swersky. He'd told me how Bos had sprung from the locker room looking confused and ill, then shouted a blur of words, and recklessly marched out.

He'd immediately called and told Lieu he didn't want to leave Faith alone. He kept saying her – she was the reason … but he forgot about himself … and how it had taken such a toll on _him_, too.

Panting and eager to talk to him, I banged loudly on his door, listening to the copper door knob rattling in protest. I silently prayed he was home; that I hadn't only imagined seeing his cobalt Mustang parked haphazardly outside by the curb.

I stopped in mid-knock as I proceeded to rap on the door for the third time. I was growing more impatient by every passing minute. The discord I heard from the inside wasn't making me feel any better.

"Open the door….it's me…" I called out, but I was pretty sure I couldn't be heard over the raised voices coming from inside.

I could hear Bosco yelling loudly, saying something about not knowing what to do. Faith's voice was lower, and it seemed to quiver with every inaudible word.

Finally the locks flicked and the door swung open. I was greeted by Bosco, his head down, the pungent odor of household chemicals breezing from his clothes and into by my face. I scrunched up my nose.

"What the hell to do you want?" he barked, letting the door swing into the wall of his apartment.

I stood, my eyes wide at his angry welcome, and waited for him to look up.

"Ty…" I heard Faith whimper, letting out a breath and rushing over to the door.

Bosco snapped his head up. "Davis? Oh," he shook his head. "I'm sorry, man. Come in…."

I pushed my way past him as he shut the door behind me. I chuckled despite the situation, as I overheard Faith slap him and scold, "You idiot!"

"Like _you_ thought it was him, _Detective_."

I turned in time to see Faith glaring at him. "Like saying 'What the hell do you want?' to the cops who could've been holding a warrant would've been a good idea," she mumbled.

"Screw them."

"You won't be sayin' that when you're in a five-by-ten."

"I won't be in one." Bosco said flatly. Faith just rolled her eyes and then turned to me.

Her face was much more relaxed than it had been when Bosco first opened the door. It was as if years of stress and worry had been wiped clean away when she realized it was me knocking. Bosco shared an equally relieved expression; weary, pale and drained, but still relieved.

He followed Faith's eyes and looked at me knowingly, I guess accepting the fact that our earlier locker room talk – or rather, looks – had given left me with plentiful information. It was most likely his hollow, cold eyes that gave it away - the ones he wore when something had gone terribly wrong; and could never again be fixed. The eyes he wore when he found out Mikey had been murdered; the one's he wore when he first told me what happened to Faith. The ones no longer a piercing, healthy blue, but instead the pair that had faded into a rather seasick shade of grey and drained of vibrancy and happiness; of, well, _Bosco_.

"Thought you were workin', Ty," he said, trudging into the kitchen. Faith began to follow – looking terrified to be far from his side – but turned on her heel and raced to lock the door. Looking somewhat content the door was secure, she quickly caught up with Bosco who was now scanning the fridge shelves. I rested against the counter.

"Swersky let me take the day off; I wanted to be here in case you guys need anything. You know."

He shrugged dismissively and shook his head. "We don't."

I nodded. Had it been someone else, I might've been a bit taken aback. But I expected such a response from Bosco. He didn't want to need help, but God knows he needed it.

"Bosco," Faith said softly, tugging on his shirt. "Ty's just trying to help…"

"Well he can't!" Bosco snapped, slamming shut the fridge door and standing straight. He glared at me. "You can't help us!"

"I can try," I said, my voice low but defensive.

"How?" he questioned, stepping forward.

"What?"

"How are you going to help?" he demanded. "How?" He didn't give me a chance to answer. "See? You can't help! No. one. can. help."

"Bosco…" Faith warned.

"No, Faith! No! How is he going to help? Huh? He can't! He can't take away what happened to you. He can't change what…what…Walker _did_ to you. And he can't change what I did about it!" His voice was now raised, and Faith was hanging her head, her arms crossed.

"No one," he continued, lowering his voice and stating each word concisely. "_No_ one can _change anything_."

With that, he backed up toward the counter where Faith was standing, doing her best to hide the tears that were dripping from her eyes. He looked at me, as if challenging a response, but had nothing to say. I just sighed and looked around, then pushed off the counter and stumbled toward the living room, scanning the floor and coffee table for the remote.

"You guys seen the news?" I queried, spotting the control and picking it up. I flicked on the TV, watching the screen slowly light up, then turned up the volume.

"Yeah," Bosco said, his arms now crossed as well. He seemed furious that I'd let him have the last word; that I hadn't challenged his assumption that no one could help them. His face was pursed in a classic still Bosco expression – the so-pissed-off-I-can't-even-frown type expression.

I didn't acknowledge his response, as I was too wrapped up in what I was hearing. I stared ahead at a red-coated news reporter, speaking about a potential suspect in what had now become a "case".

"Davis, we already watched this crap!" Bosco called from the kitchen, him and Faith rushing out join me. She was clutching his arm in spite of his recent outburst, obviously not keen on the idea of walking around even a locked apartment unprotected.

"I don't want to see this again," she whined softly, turning away as the TV panned to a year-old photo of Walker in his uniform.

"See?!" Bosco cried angrily, trying to swat the remote from my hands. "She doesn't want to see this, Ty. Turn it off!"

With my height advantage, I easily kept the remote out of his reach, while concurrently straining my ears to hear a description of this "potential suspect".

"I don't care…" I said slowly, not tearing my eyes from the screen. "You two need to see this."

Save for female and dark-haired, I caught none of the description due to their bickering. What I saw next, however, needed no words. The reporter introduced a sketched, and the screen quickly flashed to it; drawn plainly with dark pencil.

Plain, but strikingly familiar.

_"A resident recalls seeing this person sprinting from the scene shortly after seven the previous night,"_ the reported narrated matter-of-factly. She went on to inform the public that this person was not a suspect, but rather a "person of interest". I scoffed inwardly. That, I'm sure, would make them feel much better.

Seven. The ME noted that as the TOD, I remembered hearing earlier on the morning news.

"Son of a bitch…." I mumbled, barely emphasizing any words. I completely trailed off, dropping into a nearby chair. By now, Bosco and Faith had ceased their arguing long enough to follow my concerned gazed.

I was studying the sketch, convincing myself that it wasn't. Couldn't. I gazed up at Faith and Bosco, and I knew how confused I must have looked.

They were too busy, though, scrutinizing the hand-drawn portrait of a young, dark-complexioned woman with an ethnic background, thin black hair falling past her shoulders. Something hung messily from her neck; as if the artist wasn't exactly sure what it was - As if the witness told them they'd seen something flipping around her collar as she ran, but they couldn't put their finger on what it was.

If I'd ever see one, though, I'd of said it was a badge.


	4. Chapter 4

It was difficult walking through the house the next afternoon to report for my shift. I crept through the door, swinging my coat over my shoulder and snaking around sympathetic acquaintances who couldn't offer enough condolences.

I wanted to tell them exactly where to put their trite commiseration, but had a feeling it probably would come out a bit harsh.

It wasn't the cliché pity that made it that way, however. Instead it was the pairs of eyes on me, of everyone who knew too much. Even Lieu, as I solemnly passed his desk. Eying me beadily with a frown, like he was a disappointed father. Like I had stuck up for someone and returned a bully's punch.

So the severity of what I'd done didn't quite compare, but yet… neither had Walker's opposing crime.

Eye for an eye, I call it.

Then there was Sully and Davis, who offered a similar look. It was genuine, but even though it was from them, it still stirred up rage within me. It was too classic, too _understanding_. I certainly didn't need the entire precinct turning on me, but I also didn't prefer to be known as the 55th's Killer, who's gawked at with well-it's-Bosco-so-what-do-you-expect sort of expressions.

I didn't kill people for no reason. I'd killed a few skels in my career – the ones aiming a gun at me, Faith, other cops or civilians. I knew somewhere inside it was chipping away at me little by little, but I didn't wake up each morning feeling sinful and guilty.

This time it was different. This hadn't been a clean shot, a spur-of-the-moment reaction. Even the rage-induced vengeful hunts for Ma's abusive boyfriends hadn't been carried out so ruthlessly, backed by such profound premeditation.

Before, I was in a fog. Too blurred by the vision of Ma's bruises and cuts to clearly realize what I was doing. This time, though, I could remember my every move leading up to it; every step. I could tell detail for detail what I'd done each hour before it after Sul and I had left Mercy.

Even the thirty-something minute drive outside of our precinct. You can only go so far in a cloud of anger and with a desire for revenge; you have to be clear and level-headed to carry out something so calculated. If I ever tried to plead insanity, I'd be lying cold straight.

It was an awkward feeling. Feeling consumed by still rage for what Walker'd done to Faith, feeling as if he hadn't paid _enough_ for his crime. Another part of me was content that he could never hurt her again. Still, I was shaky and I glanced behind me more times in a day than I was looking straight ahead.

The scene in the alley replayed itself over and over in my mind, more times than the vivid visions I'd had of being shot last year.

I couldn't shake the scenario. And maybe somewhere, some part of me just possibly possessed a bit of remorse; a bit of guilt. Maybe, just maybe.

But I hadn't found that part of me yet.

------------------------------------------------------------------------- //

I was late as I entered the house, darting toward the locker room intent on making it to roll call before it ended. There was a certain someone I was looking for, but I doubted he'd managed to make it to briefing before me.

Wide-eyed, I scanned the room for him, and then hurried into the locker room where I was greeted by an exiting Sully.

"Late, Ty," he observed.

"Hardly," I defended, brushing past him as I rushed toward my locker. I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye and continue out the door to roll call. Funny, I thought, how even the tiniest of infractions are noticed when you make it a point to regularly not have any. Bosco was late every day, and I guess since it was so routine, no one had anything left to say to him. Today probably marked the second day in my career that I'd been more than five minutes late, but I was going to stick out like a sore thumb. It wasn't like me to say anything though; I was too expected to "go with the flow". Imagine if I, reserved officer Davis, stood up and remarked. They'd probably be convinced I'd suffered some sort of head trauma and send me to Mercy.

I fiddled with my locker until I managed to wrestle the door open. The sound of a flushing toilet made me raise my head, and I watched as the door on the neighboring stall swung open and an exhausted-looking Bosco emerged. He was already in his uniform, but he hardly appeared presentable. His hair was slicked back unkemptly in various directions and deep circles seemed to haunt the underneath of his eyes. He looked ghostly pale and withdrawn, and weak. So weak, that I wouldn't have been surprised to see him mistaken for somebody else. He didn't have that strong physique he'd always had. It looked broken down, thin and worn out. The last few days' events appeared to have taken the same toll on him as his entire time on the force. Anxiety, worry and lack of sleep all clustered into a relentless seventy-two hours.

I couldn't help but feel bad for him as he stumbled wearily toward his locker, though I was tempted to point out all the wrong ways he was dealing with things.

"Hey," I greeted softly, still studying him.

He held his hand up weakly but didn't respond. He'd opened his locker and was rummaging through it for something, and didn't bother to look up.

"What are you lookin' for?" I asked, hoping to elicit a word or two from him. The silence was exceptionally uncharacteristic. He finally rose and lifted his head to face me.

"Don't know," he croaked, shrugging and not bothering to clear his throat. His voice crackled from not speaking, and it sound distant and tired.

I sighed. "You find Cruz?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Was I 'sposed to be lookin' for her?"

"Thought you might wanna give her the heads up and all… before someone knocks on her door, you know." I replied, my tone a bit defensive.

He let out a scornful laugh, and propped himself up against the row of lockers.

"What, you're not gonna tell her we saw her Siamese twin on the news? You think we're the only ones who recognized that picture, Boz?"

Bosco just rolled his eyes, a bitter smile creeping over his cracked and blistered lips. "I'm not her fucking babysitter."

"No, but you did get her into this," I persisted.

I watched him intently as I finished dressing. He didn't respond. He'd now shifted his weight to his right foot and had folded his arms staidly across his chest. The same trademark sarcastic grin labeled his features like a pissed-off Garfield.

His eyes were bloodshot and glassy, indicative of a body running on little sleep and even less to eat.

"You're really gonna let her go down for this?" I questioned finally, making my way to the exit, now not too concerned for my late arrival.

He shrugged vaguely again, staring over my shoulder at the door. "I'm not letting her," he said calmly. "She brought it on herself. She helped me. She's an accomplice."

"No Bosco," I said, straining my voice a bit and holding up a finger to emphasize. "You _told me_ you used all her past corner-cutting to get her to help you. You _told me_ that!"

"So I made her feel bad," he responded just as calmly, still not meeting my eyes. "But I didn't threaten her. She helped. On her own free will."

"Which is exactly why you can't sit back and watch her take the hit, Bosco," I declared, my voice somewhat of a shriek. I could feel anger flaring behind it. He was being completely unreasonable.

"Why not, Ty? Why can't I? Why can't I let her wheedle her own way out of this mess? Why do I have to help her?"

"Because if you _don't_, she's gonna pin this one on you, Bosco. She'll tell them everything." I watch him angrily as he finally met my gaze, waiting for an answer.

"They'll have to prove it."

"You don't think they can do that? You don't think so?"

He shook his head rapidly, the bitter sneer returning to his face.

"Bosco?" I questioned, taking my hand off the door and stepping closer to him. "You listening to me?"

"Yes," he shrieked, raising his voice. "I'm listening to you, Davis. What the hell do you want me to say? Cruz deserved to go down a long time ago. Did you forget that she shot Faith? She almost killed her, Ty!"

"Two years ago!"

"Why does it matter how long ago it happened? She still did it!"

I couldn't believe how stubborn he was being. I knew Bosco was obstinate and headstrong, but this was becoming too much. There was a tiny voice inside my head questioning my words, and asking if maybe he did have a point. I did my best to ignore it as I continued trying to convince him.

I paused, still glaring at him expectantly. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh and walked past me toward the door. He stopped mid-step and turned.

"Davis," he said, his voice softer. His face relaxed back into a solemn frown. "I'm not tryin' to let Cruz take the hit for this one. And she won't. She already covered for Faith last year; she won't do it again. She'll tell them…everything…just like you said. And so be it, Ty. I knew what I was doing." He passed a hand through the air dismissively. "So be it."

I stared at him silently for a minute, processing his words. He turned and pulled open the door. "We're late for roll-call. Really late,"

"You're just gonna sit back and hope for the best, Bosco?" I asked finally.

He shrugged sadly. "Nothing left to hope for, Ty." With that, let the door swing shut behind him, and I heard the listless shuffle of his feet across the floor become more and more distant.

------------------------------------------------------------- //

I watch Lieu turn his attention to Bosco who was meandering sluggishly into roll call, late as expected. Swersky shot him a pitiful look, and then trailed his sight to Davis was following not far behind. He narrowed his beady eyes at him, seemingly stunned not to have seen him sitting right beside me already.

Shyly, Davis brushed past Bosco and joined me by my seat, flipping his cap in his hands and shrugging off Lieu's laughably imperious gaze.

"He's not doin' too good, huh?" I asked, nudging my shoulder toward Bosco. He'd discovered a seat a row to our left and was accompanied by an empty chair that he stared wistfully at.

"Understatement, Sul," Ty muttered in my ear. "He's like a zombie. He's like, on autopilot or something."

I shook my head sadly, glancing from Bosco to Lieu and hardly interpreting anything he was saying. Something about a raid that uniforms were to steer clear of, but everything else was a muddled collaboration of non-words. I hoped Ty was listening a bit better than me.

The door creaking open was the first sound to shake me from my reflective thoughts, and I glanced up curiously to see who was entering, as did everyone else.

"Oh," Ty whispered, somewhat surprised.

We watched the figure enter, dressed fully in her uniform, her glossy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked tired and worn, her face was red from tears, but she was smiling genuinely.

Reflexively, I turned to gauge Bosco's reaction. If there was any color left in his face, it quickly drained away, leaving him a very sickly-looking pale. His expression was worry stricken as she joined him in the empty seat. For a split-second, I thought I saw a wave of relief pass over his features, but the worry just seemed to consume him, quickly overriding any sense of contentment. I could see his lips moving as he quietly said something to her, but I couldn't make out what it was. Her smiled then faded a bit and she shook her head. He rolled his eyes and ran his hands down his face.

I turned to Ty, wide-eyed, who simply exchanged a similarly confused look and just shrugged.

"I don't think---" I spoke suddenly. The familiar clicking of the opening door interrupted me, and once again we turned our heads inquisitively toward the door.

Two nicely-suited men, eerily similar to the FBI, stepped inside, chattering lowly to one another. They scanned the room for a second, before Lieu politely but firmly asked what he could do for them.

"Sergeant Cruz," the younger one announced loudly, hardly acknowledging Lieu and still peering throughout the uniforms as if the tiny sergeant was somewhere hidden amongst us. He waved a piece of paper through the air and sneered, revealing a set of badly discolored teeth. "We have a warrant for her arrest."

A few other officers exchanged quiet "what"s.

Lieu stood at his podium looking extremely grave and silent.

Ty gulped.

Bosco coughed.

Faith laughed.

And I shook my head, again, before mumbling, "Crap!"


	5. Chapter 5

The entire room silenced and it seemed all of its occupants were struggling desperately to remain completely still. Even Bosco, who was obviously angry at my sudden appearance and just dying to give me a piece of his mind, was dead quiet at the revelation. I couldn't say he was entirely shocked, though.

Judging by the expression Sully's and Ty's faces; neither were they. Somewhat surprised by the actual reality of it, I suppose, but not completely shocked. Me? I was going through a scene of déjà vu.

And torn between opposing feelings.

I knew she'd assisted Bosco in his recent attempt to achieve justice for me. I didn't know why she'd done it; I just knew that she had. I was angry with Bosco for getting her involved to begin with. I didn't want to feel as if I owed her, or as if I needed her. I didn't need Maritza Cruz for shit, and I certainly didn't need her thinking _we_ needed her. At the time though, I was thankful for, well, somewhat…having a bit of peace of mind, and so I hadn't given Bos a hard time.

I thought in her own twisted way of screwing Bosco over as she'd done in the past, that she'd find some way to plead Innocent Victim, and tell the feds she'd been coerced or threatened into aiding. That she was involuntarily an accomplice and had assisted only because she feared for her life. I could just picture her sweet little lips convincing some naïve detective that she hadn't done it out of her own free will. That she really hadn't driven so far out of her own precinct, in her car, as Bosco had told me. Or that there were bigger fish waiting for them to collar if they'd just…just let her walk.

During last year's incident, we'd made it clear we weren't friends; that we were anything but. And she'd made it quite clear as well that she hadn't done it to help me out, but had rather formed some paradigm to live by where she didn't "rat out cops". It seemed like a pretty lame excuse at the time, for the shit she probably went through at Rikers. But whatever the real reason had been, I knew for certain it hadn't come from the kindness of her heart. That just wasn't her, which made me so much angrier when she put on some sickening sweet façade.

I knew this time wasn't different. Directly, or indirectly, she would benefit. And having her arrested would certainly not put the odds on Bosco's side, or mine for that matter – having known about everything – but just the though of seeing her in handcuffs made the sweet feeling of revenge sear through my blood.

I guess that's why I couldn't manage to stifle a laugh as the detectives announced the grounds for their presence.

It also may have had something to do with the fact that I was exhausted, delirious and shifting between moods faster than a racecar. My mind was disconnected, and I was in no shape to be at work; I knew this myself. But, I was too terrified to spend another eight or more hours alone. I needed to see other people, be with other people. Join civilization again.

I snapped out of my own thoughts as I heard Lieu's authoritative voice crackling the silence. He stopped mid-sentence and shot me a glare, as if hinting for me to regain my composure.

I don't highly recommend laughing in such a situation. Bad idea on my part.

"As I'm sure you…._officials_, know, Maritza Cruz is a _Sergeant_," Swersky stressed. He was obviously offended by the feds' ignorant entrance and failure to even acknowledge him as Lieutenant. He swept his hand across the air, motioning to us. "So she does not attend _roll call_ with our _uniforms._"

Clearly angered by Lieu's attempt to undermine their knowledge, they cleared their throats and turned to the door. "You can expect us back by the end of the third shift…." The younger one seemed to be squinting at Lieu's badge. "_Swersky…_"

"That's _Lieutenant_ Swersky," Lieu gruffly corrected.

Nodding reluctantly, the men finally left.

I peered up at Lieu. Having known him for so long, I could read his face like a book. Almost as well as I could read Bosco's, which was beyond noteworthy. (Not Bosco's expression, but my ability to read it.)

Anyway, Lieu's appearance was staid and he looked as still as could be. It was his trademark look of anger – his jaw was set, teeth clenched. It was really only humorous to us veterans. It scared rookies stiff.

Intrigued, I listened as he spoke once more. You could almost here his jaw creaking as he shifted his mouth open.

"Bosco," he croaked. "You have anything to say about this?"

Looking appalled at the accusation, he shook his head and started to speak, but I quickly cut him off, too overcome by my own defensive anger.

"Wha—what?" I exclaimed, leaning forward in my chair and letting out a bitter, incredulous laugh. Things were just getting better and better. "Why would Bosco have _anything_ to do with Cruz being arrested, boss?"

"Why don't we let Bosco speak for himself, Faith," Lieu said, his words slow and calculated. He was obviously annoyed, but I didn't care. I was tired of people linking Bosco to Cruz and vice versa. Bosco had been done with her two years ago, yet everyone seemed to still think he was still somehow entangled in all of her disasters.

I had more to say about the matter, but for Lieu's heart's sake, I kept my mouth shut and just nodded. His face was stress-ridden and I could tell he didn't need my two cents. Not today, anyway.

Bosco was still silent, his mouth slightly agape. It was the very first time I actually had trouble deciphering it. I couldn't tell if he was still angry that Lieu was playing Bosco-Cruz-Dominos, or if he was worried everyone was getting closer to the truth.

Normally, I'd find some way to will the right words out of his mouth. But at that moment I really had no idea what he was supposed to say. I just couldn't ignore the knowing look in Lieu's eyes as he and Bosco locked gazes.

There was obviously more to the situation than I could see.

-------------------------------------------------------- //

I sat frozen, my hands folded in my lap and fidgeting occasionally. What was going on? How was I supposed to answer this? Lieu _knew_ what had happened, he _knew_ what I'd done. So what was this, some veneer? Some façade to throw everyone off?

I was completely torn, and any attempt by Faith to get me out of this one had been overruled. I eyed Lieu intensely, keeping my cold stare on him and hinting questionably. He either didn't catch the clue, or he ignored it. Either way, he stood, still looking at me expectantly.

Finally, I shrugged. "I dunno what the fuck she did, boss, but I didn't have anything to do with it. Remember I told you, I don't wanna get involved in any of her shit?"

I heard Faith mutter "Amen" as we waited for Swersky to answer.

He paused for a second, before taking and breath, telling everyone to be safe and then ushering them all out the door.

"Bosco? Faith? Stay."

We looked at each other intently and obediently stayed put, watching our fellow officers as they stood up and left. Sully and Ty wandered out last, shooting us both concerned, sympathetic expressions. I turned to Faith again, just as she was turning her own head away to avoid their solemn miens. I swear I could see a small tear glistening in the corner of her eye, as if the pitiful gaze they'd given her had reminded her of what had happened.

What the hell was she doing back so soon? And in uniform no less?

Before I could begin to interrogate, Lieu stepped toward us. "Sorry, Bosco."

I glanced up at him and shook my head. "What the hell, Lieu?"

He sighed. "Bosco, nearly the whole third shift knows Walker. They also know how tight you and Cruz used to be, the shit you two got into, and that you always seem to be tied together when something goes wrong. If you think they overlook that, you're very wrong. Very. I played stupid, for you. But I won't do it again."

I shook my head while processing his words. "You think it doesn't raise a red flag to pick me out? You think they overlook _that_?"

"Yeah, actually," he said, nodding. He raised a finger and pointed it at me. "A helluva lot more than they would me saying nothing. No suspicion? That would raise red flags, Bosco."

Again I shook my head. Never in my entire career did I think I'd come face to face with Lieu, who had found some way – even after all the shit I'd put him through – to find some justification in what I had done.

"Look Bosco," he continued, backing toward the door. "We both know why you did what you did. I get it." He nodded his head toward Faith, who had her face buried in her hands, her blonde hair falling limply around her shoulders. "And I'm sure it was worth it. But it's done. Now, something's gonna happen, Bosco. And you're gonna answer to it. This thing with Cruz, it's not gonna work. It's gonna fall through, and you're gonna have to answer to it."

"Then I will, boss," I declared, keeping my eyes on Faith. She didn't look up. "It's worth it."

"Fine." He replied, shrugging. With that, he reached the door and exited, letting it whisk shut in his wake.

The moment he was gone, Faith lifted her head, revealing the tears she had kept concealed during his presence. With one finger, she wiped them away from under her eye, sniffling slightly. Guilt washed over me, like had done every previous day after the incident. I felt responsible for what had happened to her; although everyone had made it clear it was in no way, shape or form my fault. Still, I couldn't help but feel I should've been with her – _protected_ her.

I wanted to take her in arms and reassure her, but my anger got the best of me, as it often did. The whole situation wasn't making sense. I wanted answers.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, my commiserative gaze turning to a cold, blank stare. "And in your uniform? What the hell, Faith?"

"What?" she looked up at me, her eyes wide.

"You heard me," I said, softening my tone a bit. "It's only been a few days, Faith. You're not ready to come back."

She shook her head. "Lieu said he was short uniforms, so he's putting me on the street for a few days. Plus I figure it'll be better for me to be out there, you know? Doing something. Detective… its 70 percent paperwork…I need to…be doing something."

I realized the logic in her finding something take her mind off the whole ordeal, but wasn't there something besides work? She had hardly recovered; I could still see the pain in her eyes, and the fear. It was an unspeakable magnitude. She just wasn't stable. A shift was out of the question.

"Go home." I stated quietly, my teeth gritted. "You're not working today."

"What?" she asked, her voice high. She sounded surprised at my order, but not entirely defensive. Yet.

"I said to go home."

"No." she stated, crossing her arms. I knew it would only take me repeating my command once before she refused to abide. I wasn't shocked. In fact, I'd of called the medics if she had up and obliged right away. That just wasn't her.

"Faith, I _said_ to go _home_," I instructed again, raising my voice. "I wasn't asking you!"

"Bosco, you can't make me leave. I'm working today. And I'll be fine." She said her words slowly, as if trying her best to make them sound confident, but her sentence crackled with despair.

I stood up and knelt in front of her, watching as she completely lost composure. "Look," I said quietly, smiling as best I could. "Just go back to my place. Fred has the kids 'til next weekend, right?"

She nodded, squinting her eyes in a futile attempt to hold back escaping tears.

"Okay, so go back to my place," I repeated gently. "That way you won't be alone tonight. And you can call me whenever you need to. I'll have my cell on. Okay?"

I placed two fingers on her chin, raising her head so her eyes met mine. "Okay?"

She shook her head quickly. "Will you come with me? Take today off?"

I hesitated for a second before nodding. "Yeah," I smiled. "Yeah, I'll come."

We emerged from the locker room once more, and I walked toward Lieu's desk. He looked up at us, a confounded expression becoming his features when he saw us in plain clothes.

"I'm takin' today off, boss," I told him matter-of-factly, my voice not wavering in the least.

"Bosco," he told me, in his usual tone of warning. "That's not gonna look good when they come back for Cruz tonight. You know it."

"No it won't."

"Bosco?"

"They're lookin' for Cruz, boss, not me, right?"

"But Bosco—"

"Look," I declared, swiping a hand through the air. "They need to talk to me, then they know where to find me."

"I would seriously reconsider this, Bosco," Lieu continued. He stepped as far as he could to the corner of his desk, holding a stack of papers haphazardly in his hands. I was already almost to the door, Faith not far behind. "If Cruz…."

"Screw her!" I shouted, before yanking the door open for Faith and following her out.

We made our way across the parking lot to my Mustang in complete silence. Her head was down and she slid into the passenger seat still without saying a word. She was clutching a sweater in one hand, and the blood had drained from her knuckles as she gripped it nervously, making them a strained white. Her jaw was set and she looked angry.

"Okay, _what?!_" I barked, slipping the key into the ignition and turning the engine over. There was no denying she had something to say about me and Lieu. But probably just about me.

"What?" she asked quietly, lifting her head so our eyes met. "What are you talking about?"

"You," I shouted, flailing my hands. "You want to say something, Faith. I can see it on your face. So go ahead and say it. Tell me how I didn't handle things right in there! Go for it, I'm listening. I'm used to being corrected!"

She shook her head slowly and let out a bitter laugh. "Okay, Bosco," she said, forming her words slowly. She kept her eyes locked on mine. "You do this whenever there's hell, you go off on everyone and anyone, but most of all the people who are trying to _help_ you! You don't _listen_ to what they say, you don't take their _advice_, you just tell everyone to screw themselves, and then you walk away from the problem!"

She looked at me expectantly, as if waiting for me to say something in my favor. When I simply stared back blankly, she sucked in a breath and continued. "You think—you think it'll solve itself, but it won't, Bosco, it won't! Problems don't just go _away_ because you _ignore_ them. It doesn't work that way!"

"So what do you want me to do, Faith," I inquired finally. I could feel my temper flaring at her accusation. What was I supposed to have done? Nothing, it seemed, was ever good enough. "You want me to take Lieu's advice? Fine. Then I'll stay the shift through, and when they come back for Cruz, I'll walk right by and give her the opportunity to say 'Hey, there's the real killer, and by the way, I have the murder weapon with his _prints on it!_'."

I paused, watching as she lowered her head, and tried to gauge her reaction. She said nothing. "Is that what you want, Faith? Is that what you want me to do?" I softened my voice, seeing how she'd turned away at my tone. "I thought you wanted me to come with you."

She shook her head slowly. "I-I," she stammered. "I do. I mean, I don't wanna be _alone_, Boz, but…"

"But what?" I prompted.

_God. This sucks,_ I thought. _Everything sucks. Every good thing in my life…ruined, preyed on…killed._ Mikey…I'd never been able to trust him. Rely on him. Or take his word. And he died, knowing that. Scratch that. Murdered. Thinking he was a screw up. But it was me – I was the real screw up. I'd seen so much shit in my life, I didn't have the good will or the faith to think anyone could change. And Faith? I'd kept her from death that night at Mercy, but I couldn't keep some…some….fucking rapist away from her. I could dive before the bullets, but I couldn't – I couldn't stop _him_ in time. I couldn't keep Walker away from her. I couldn't keep _one of our own_ from hurting her.

I was powerless.

I'd killed him, but I still felt powerless. Perhaps, even more powerless than before.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ //

Ivrolled down my window, letting the cool, yet thick air whisk by my gaunt face. I tapped the door lightly with her fingers, silently wishing for some tune to hum along to. Torpidly, I stared straight ahead.

"I want you to swing by 82nd after we go 10-63," I ordered my partner, who was perched handsomely behind the wheel. "Need to talk to Yokas."

Manny furrowed his brow at my words. I knew what he was thinking - Yokas and I were a hair short of mortal enemies, but I wanted to stop and talk to her? Confounded, he opened his mouth to speak.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Sarge," he told me, his voice full of concern. "An' Bosco's place is on 82nd, isn't it?"

I shifted my head a bit, but hardly into an acknowledgeable nod. I was still peering half-way out the open window, watching the New York blacktop flash by. "She's been staying at Bosco's place since…..since…"

Manny nodded quickly. "Word travels fast, Sarge."

I shrugged .

"But like I said," he continued. "Doesn't sound like a good idea to me. You two aren't really friends, now, so-"

"I didn't ask for your _opinion_, Manny," I warned, taking my eyes off the outside to meet his gaze with my trademark steely glare. "We get some food, then you bring me to Bosco's. He's at work, so I won't get into anything with him. It's just Yokas that I need to talk to. If you want nothing to do with it, drive your ass back to the House and I'll get my own damn car. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Manny abided, sighing. He probably wasn't sure why he even tried to sway my opinion, as he glanced over at to see if I was still staring him down. But I'd turned my head back toward her window, the wind whipping at my hair. My eyes had no target as I stared straight ahead, deep in thought.

----------------------------------------------------------- //

I sped around the corner of 82nd, navigating my Mustang parallel between several other cars parked outside the complex. Faith hadn't answered me when I'd asked her to elaborate on what she thought I should do. She'd just turned away and said "Nevermind", her voice unsteady and overruled by tears. I had torn away from the parking lot, silent the whole way home. If there was anything else she had to say, I figured she'd say it soon enough.

After killing the engine, I yanked the parking brake up as far as it would go. It was just a protective precaution I took with my baby, not as if she was on a hill or anything. Just some sort of habit I'd developed. I stared over at Faith, who was already escaping from her seatbelt and gripping the handle of the door. Her eyes glistened from the slickness of tears that had, up until now, been present.

Sighing, she finally spoke. Her voice was still weak. "If you don't beat this, Bosco," she started, barely able to finish. "I mean...I knew about it. I basically..."

"Faith," I said incredulously. "Half the fucking department knows. Sully…Ty…. Hell, _Lieu_ knows for God's sake!"

"No," she interrupted, hearing my words but not listening. "Cruz isn't going to keep her face shut. Since when has she ever?"

"Faith, stop," I ordered, not liking the direction the discussion was taking. I felt that same anger rising inside me again. Lately, I'd found it was almost always there…waiting for words, or some event to bring it to the surface. "If I go to jail, that's my cross to bear—"

I opened my mouth slowly, trying to think of something else to say. By the time I was able to speak, however, she'd turned and started for the apartment, disappearing inside before long. I quickly pushed open my own door, emerging from the driver's side and briskly walking after her. I noticed a recognizable vehicle out of the corner of my eye as I rounded my car and stepped onto the sidewalk. It was jet black, an older model unmarked Crown Vic, and anti-crime was written all over it.

The car had turned the corner not far from the end of my street and was rolling slowly in my direction, the sun streaking into its windows, and casting a spotlight on the familiar occupants.


	6. Chapter 6

I had hardly made it to the stairs when I heard Bosco's voice booming an offended "What?!" from outside. Honestly, though, I'd slowed my pace the moment I stepped inside the door to his apartment complex. I knew he'd rush after me, like he always did when I left him chewing over some unreasonable sentence I'd given him. And I guess a pretty big part of me didn't want to walk up the stairs alone. There was an end-of-winter-almost-spring sun ray shining through the windows along the stairwell, but they were few and far between. I glanced up at the couple flights I'd have to climb to reach his apartment, and there were areas where darkness just enveloped it. It freaked me out beyond words. But I think what scared me more than just…well...being _afraid_ to begin with, was the sense of security I'd lost after everything that had happened. More specifically, the security that was _stolen_ from me. I'd lost any feeling of braveness and strength; the most innocent of shadows…just made my throat lock up, and my hands quiver.

How was I even supposed to be a cop if I couldn't even walk up the stairs to an apartment?

Bosco's voice was still thundering, though I could barely make out the collage of muddled words as they trailed rather recklessly from his mouth. Typical. Shaking my head, I turned and pushed off the banister, making my way outside.

Instead of my predetermined image of some civilian having accidentally touched his 'stang the wrong way, he was actually sharing some heated words with none other than our best friend, Cruz. I struggled just to keep the bile from rising from my throat as the skinny bitch rounded her car and stepped toward Bosco, her narrow little witch fingers pointed accusingly at him. Manny wasn't far behind; her cute little puppy dog, too terrified to fall out of step. When it came down to it, though, Manny was a good guy. And an excellent cop, I knew. As far as I was concerned, he was just another victim of her calculated wrath, just like Bosco had been years prior. The only difference, it seemed, was that he didn't have a former partner that got screwed over by the whole parade.

You could say my anger had rose considerably against her in the past couple hours, naturally I was consumed with worry in the whole her-being-arrested deal. She could ruin Bosco's life in one damned sentence. And I knew she'd enjoy every minute of it. At the moment, though, it was her god damned mouth that was irritating the hell out of me.

For once, I just wanted Bosco to slap her in face.

Speaking of him, he was edging closer to her just as she closed in as well, her bony hand tilted rudely in his face. I was still unsure what was going on, but anyone could've guessed she'd instigated it.

"Then why is the _Lieutenant_ calling me back to the House in the _middle_ of my _shift_, Bosco?!" I heard Cruz screech. Her voice was high and ear piercing, as usual. Wasn't she used to her superiors calling her in? Hadn't she been in enough trouble before? Then again, she never acknowledged the fact that she _had_ any superiors.

I couldn't make out Bosco's response, because he muttered it lowly through gritted teeth.

He must've finally noticed me coming up beside him, because he glanced back momentarily. He looked exhausted, but his gorgeous azure eyes were flaring with rage. They looked much like a sea that had been jostled into a hurricane and were wild with angry waves. I widened my own eyes as if to asked what the hell was going on, but he'd already turned back to face the fiend.

---------------------------------------------------------- //

I'd hardly gotten a word in edge-wise when she made her way toward me. We could've set a record for the most explosive pair of people on the planet. She hadn't even closed the door to the passenger side of the car before we were spitting vulgar phrases at one another, our voices raised and our lungs nearly giving way under the strain. I don't supposed it aided the situation, me having asked her "What do you want?!" the second she emerged. However, it had been completely uncalled for when she'd glared back at me before calmly stating, "I'm here to talk to Yokas. The one that got us into this ordeal."

Faith? She got us into this? _Into what?_ It was that comment that had really gotten the best of my temper.

I could feel Faith standing behind me, and I stopped to take a second and look over at her. Her face was ridden with concern and confusion, but most of all, with anger. She glanced at me questioningly, begging for some sort of answer, but I was deterred by the hot breath I felt on my face. Cruz was way to close for comfort and biting out a dozen sentences scrawled into one incoherent phrase. I never felt a stronger urge to knock somebody out than I did at that moment, but there was a certain bull dog standing guard not too far away, his dark eyes focused more on me than his verbally abusive partner.

So I refrained.

Cruz finally stopped yelling when she noticed Faith's figure lingering behind me. She flashed her fiery eyes to mine once more, before, thankfully, taking a step back. "Yokas," she started. "Can we talk? Just you and me." Again she shot me a look of warning, which I hardly acknowledged. Instead, I rocked back and forth impatiently on my heel, drowning in a deluge of uncontainable emotions.

Faith was silent, though I think partly because she was trying to keep herself from vomiting all over the pavement. Cruz had painted on a shockingly fraud smile – so insincere it more resembled a sneer – and it was sickening enough to make anyone lose their lunch – hell, breakfast and dinner for that matter.

Angered by her intrusiveness, I pushed her back by her shoulder and she toppled backward acutely, just barely keeping herself stable.

"Don't touch me!" she spat, with the venomousness of a viper. "I wasn't talking to you."

I saw Manny out of the corner of my eye, making his way hurriedly toward his Sergeant. I raised my head and met his gaze, both of our expressions those of warning. "Santiago," I stated firmly, yanking my hand back as Cruz roughly shook it off her shoulder. I held it up in a stop-sign like signal before him. "Don't."

I think he was actually grateful to have someone tell him he didn't have to back up the unworthy bitch. And satisfied when he stopped in his tracks, I turned back to Cruz.

"_Touch_ you?" I shrieked, laughing bitterly. "Touch you? I'll _kill_ you! You're not talking to her, _ever!_"

"Right, Bosco," she told me, locking our eyes. She tilted back on her foot, standing idle. Her voice was lower now, in fact, it was probably hardly audible to Faith as she stood behind me. "You probably would kill me, wouldn't you? Someone becomes a problem, so then you just kill them, right? That's your solution, isn't it? They piss you off, you kill them. But I'm not gonna take the hit, this time, Bosco. I am _tired_ of going down for everybody else."

"I don't need your help, anymore, Maritza," I told her calmly, trying to ignore her stinging words as I processed them. "_We_ don't need your help," I continued, passing my hand through the air dismissively. "So the get the _hell_ away from us."

"Oh, but you will, Bosco. Just like you always do."

She backed away toward the car, waving to Manny to signal she was finished. Thinking she was gone, at least for the time being, I turned back to Faith whose features were staid and blank, her face a ghostly white. Apparently, she had heard every word.

"Faith," I began, not quite sure what I was going to say. Cruz interceded once again, however, marching back toward me, wielding a familiar object in her hand.

"I was tired of carrying this around," she announced sarcastically. "Thought you might want it." With that, she flung the object onto the pavement by my feet and stomped away. I stared down at my former baton as it bounced and clanged loudly a couple times before coming to a halt.

I looked up as Cruz reached the car, Manny in tow. He looked extremely confused, and I doubted he knew much about the situation. I could just picture him trying to wheedle the truth out of Cruz, only to be, in return, told to shut the fuck up.

He took off just seconds after sliding into the driver's seat, thrusting the dark vehicle down the street and into the distance.

"Bosco…" I heard Faith whisper. She inched from behind me, joining me at my side. I'd nearly forgotten she was even there, since she'd hardly said a word during the whole scene. She had to have gained some serious willpower, because she never, ever took shit from Cruz. I think at this point, she was just tired. Of everything. And I could relate.

I turned to meet her gaze, and realized she was peering straight down at the weapon as it lay still by my feet. It was difficult to see clearly, but if you looked at it in just the right light, you could make out the caked blood that coated almost a hundred percent of it. It was a sight that almost instantly took me back to that night, and I shivered, trying to deter my mind from taking that route.

Cruz's words flooded back to me, too.

_Someone becomes a problem, then you just kill them, right? That's your solution, isn't it? They piss you off, you kill them._

Her words shouldn't have hit me so hard, but they did. They shouldn't have gotten to me, but they did. Again, I shivered, despite that the temperature was far from cold. Each time, it seemed I shook myself harder and harder. Like I was trying to shake myself out of my skin. I felt myself writhing beneath it as I turned to face Faith again.

Her hand was clasped over her mouth as she trailed her eyes from the ground to meet my stare. Her pretty blue-green eyes looked scared, and were red from crying. I had no words to offer her, nothing to reassure or console her. I was too busy trying to escape my own body and escape the unrelenting feeling that had consumed me the second I went back to that alley on 42nd….

The feeling of being a murderer.

----------------------------------------------------//

There were few words to describe the rage racing through me as Manny and I sped away from 82nd. I was infused with anger and my heart was racing so fast, I tapped nervously on the inside of the door just to keep from exploding, and my gaze far from his.

I knew it wouldn't be long before he'd inquire to know what he had just witnessed, what I was keeping from him, and how he 'couldn't be my partner if there's gonna be secrets between us'. How I felt like puking when he pulled that line on me. Just like Bosco, he was too fucking caught up in the relationship instead of the job. So I longed for that, but I'd never found myself able to sustain it…I'd never find any worth in trying and failing.

I guess that's why I appeared to be an acid-spitting monster to everyone else. I wondered why Manny stuck by me…why he supported me through all the shit I gave him.

"You wanna tell me what that was about, Sarge?"

Perfect timing, _partner_.

"Not really."

From the corner of my eye I could see him nodding at my abrupt reply. That was normal, too. Now he was going to give my volatile self a minute or two of New York scenery, some more time to rap my fingers on the door, and then he'd try for it a second time.

He was like the cat that you throw off the dinner table: Just time enough for you to take a second bite, before he's back up there again.

"Sarge, I just—"

He hadn't nearly waited long enough. I was shaking like a volcano.

"Manny, would you just shut the hell up, please?!" I'd taken my eyes off the road to glare at him, who was so accustomed to my screaming that he hardly flinched as he turned the corner.

I shifted my stare again, having begun twirling my hair in another nervous activity for my hands. Guilt was pouring over me in sheets. "Manny…." I started, my tone as apologetic as someone so abrasive could possibly make it. "I…"

"Forget it, Sarge," he said, shrugging. He sounded hurt, but I was sure he was used to that too. Again, I had to inwardly question why he hadn't long-since requested a different partner. What on earth did he possibly see in me?

"No," I interrupted. I turned and looked in his direction as he took his eyes off the road for a second to look back at me. "You know about that cop from 38th?"

"Yeah," he acknowledged. "What was his name…uh…"

"Walker. Mathew Walker." I announced, lowering my voice as I finished informing him of the name.

"That's right, Walker. Heard... but, uh, I didn't know him very well."

"Yeah…" I trailed off, taking my eyes off his. It was too intimidating. There was no way I could keep going with his mysterious gaze directly on me.

"What about him?" he prompted after I went silent. His voice was full of concern…maybe even suspicion. But was it really that odd to bring up a cop who had recently been murdered? Especially one that uniforms from _our_ shift knew? Unless of course, he was already linking it somehow with my recent outburst.

If so, he was way too smart for me. Much smarter than Bosco had ever been.

I glanced back him once more and took a deep breath, as he looked at me expectantly. We'd come to a red light, so he was now able to devote his soulful Labrador-like eyes to staring me down for an answer.

-------------------------------------------------------- //

Bosco collapsed onto his couch shortly after we entered his apartment, and was quick to request a beer. He'd been silent on the way up the stairs, and I'd made certain to stay almost flush with him to avoid those shadows that made the hair on my neck stand up. When we'd come in, however, he immediately went off with his opinions on Cruz, exclaiming how completely uncalled for it had been for her to show up unannounced, spitting and screaming at him because Lieu had wanted to talk to her.

As if that were his fault, or something.

I retreated from the kitchen, clutching his frosty bottle, and I watched him let his baton slip from his hand and onto the carpet. He thanked me and took the bottle from my outstretched hand. I could see through the façade of anger and the venting, and I could see Cruz's words just tearing away him inside. They weren't supposed to have any worth, or meaning, coming from her and all, but what she said…I don't think it would've mattered _who_ had spoken them. They'd even rattled me.

There was something about the way Cruz had looked at me, though, that made me think she hadn't driven over here to see if Bosco was behind the reason Lieu wanted to talk to her. Or more specifically, had called her in from the shift. Her smile had been total fraud…in fact, I don't think she even owned a genuine one, but her eyes were pleading with me to talk to her, and they had looked desperate.

The baton was still on the floor near Bosco's feet. It made me uncomfortable to see it laying there in plain view…its normally-shiny black exterior dulled from the excessive residue of blood. It was chipped and silvered in too many places from where the black coating had chipped away, and from violent striking it was dented. I shivered.

"Boz," I suggested, my voice cracking. "Don't you think you should…"

"Hide it?" he finished, between sips of his beer. I nodded and he simply shrugged, looking at me, his eyes wild with confusion and despair. He laughed bitterly. "Why bother? When Lieu tells Cruz the feds are comin' to take her to Rikers for a _second_ time, she's gonna drive twice as fast to get there at the end of the shift, just so she can screw me over."

He eyed me and shrugged again as if I'd asked the dumbest question in world and then patted the cushion beside him, indicating for me to join him. I stayed planted firmly a few feet away, though, too disturbed by his voice and the tone of his bitter laughing. It was as if he'd completely given up.

"I…uh…I'm gonna go call the kids," I lied, taking a few steps backward. "I haven't talked to Emily or Charlie for like a week and I still don't see them for another, so…"

He nodded sharply, pushing himself off the furniture and to his feet, nearly tripping over the baton. In frustration, he kicked it violently until it was poorly concealed beneath the couch, and then he turned to meet my stare with an acidic smile on his face. "There," he declared. "I hid it. Now, I'm goin' to sleep."

He stumbled toward his room, still cackling sarcastically. "Anyone comes for me, tell them they're gonna hafta take me in my sleep, 'cause I'm not gettin' up for shit." He turned one last time and outstretched his hands, putting them side-by-side as if they were in cuffs, and then back into his room and slammed the door.

I shivered again, my eyes glazed over as I watched the whole scene unfold, then proceeded to dig my cell phone from my jacket. I pressed the number gingerly – one I was still quite surprised I remembered, when the person it reached was someone I vowed to forget.

It rang steadily, and I backed as far as I could into the kitchen, hoping I was far enough out of Bosco's earshot. Then again, he was probably still laughing pitifully at his life and the current state of affairs, and wouldn't hear me anyway.

When the voice finally answered, I jumped back a bit, then took a deep breath.

"Cruz," I acknowledged, hearing my words failing already. "It's Yokas."


	7. Chapter 7

I didn't even bother looking at the caller ID when my cell phone rang. I figured it was Lieu calling to ask where the hell I was and how come I was taking so long. I sighed, not bothering to think of some other excuse besides having gotten into a screaming match with Bosco.

"Look Lieu, I'm less than two minutes away. If that's not good enough, just let me know and I'll have Manny here run this red light…" I said angrily, letting out a breath once I'd finished.

"Cruz?" came the hushed voice on the other end. I froze. I'd been certain it was Swersky. "It's Yokas."

"Oh," I replied, lowering my voice. Anger quickly got the best of me. I'd gone all the way to Bosco's place, but now she wanted to talk after I'd already left? "Yeah? What the hell do you want?"

--------------------------------------------- //

I tossed and turned in my bed, periodically burying my head beneath my pillow, trying to muffle the voices reverberating off the walls of my brain. It was an eerie combination of sounds; Faith crying, Cruz yelling, Walker screaming, and the sickening sound of crushing bones…and metal against a skull. And then there were the images…God how I tried to push them away. I closed my eyes as hard as I could, but it only made them come into better view. Horrible images. Flashbacks playing in my mind like an outdated film, complete with a surreal, unsettling feeling of despair. The memories were hauntingly distorted, yet the pictures…the _people_…were evidence of the reality. I saw her figure slouched over on the edge of the hospital bed as I walked toward her, and I saw her face as she looked up at me. It'd been so frightened; so fraught with terror and helplessness. That's when I saw him behind her, nothing more than a dark shadow. Then suddenly, I was in an alley. It wasn't the alley on 42nd, but I knew exactly what my mind was attempting to convey. All the rage I'd gathered when I'd been at the hospital came barreling back in the force I put behind my weapon as I hurled it down on top of Walker, who was writhing desperately before me. Then I saw blood. More and more and more. It didn't seem to end.

I screamed, throwing my pillow the bed and slamming my fists onto the mattress in pure frustration. I wasn't sure what I was trying accomplish, but I thought maybe trying to claw my way out of my own skin would be a good place to start. Least then I wouldn't have to deal with the images; the reflections –the nightmares that stubbornly refused to end.

Then I cried. Softly at first; more of an aggravated moaning…but the tears quickly filled my eyes, dripping quickly down and into the sheet and I cried harder. I don't know what for; a combination of things, I guess. Over my own sobs, I could hear Faith's voice from the kitchen; it was quiet and vague, and I couldn't make out her words. But I could hear _her_, and it reminded me that I was crying for her, because of everything she'd been through, and everything she'd probably have to go through before this was over.

And for me. Because no matter how strong I tried to portray myself, it was messing me up inside.

----------------------------------------------------------- //

Cruz's words were harsh and loud. I didn't take it to heart, though; it was purely typical. I just bit my lip and kept on.

"Well," she persisted, "What is it?"

I cleared my throat. "You said you wanted to talk…"

She let out a bitter laugh. I could hear her speaking to Manny without taking the phone away from her mouth. "You hear this, Manny? She wants to _talk_. She wants to talk _now_, after we drove way the fuck over there and back."

I sighed. It seemed hopeless. I'm not sure what I expected to achieve out of it. I guess I was hoping I could make her feel guilty, and perhaps evoke some sort of decency from her.

"Look Cruz, I'm sorry—"

"You're _sorry_?" she interceded loudly, again laughing like some drugged hyena. "I just went out my _way_ to talk to you, and you _stood_ there while your overzealous _boyfriend_ _pushed_ me around and threatened me!"

"He didn't know what you were here for---" I began softly.

"It was none of his fucking business! I was there to talk to _you_, not _him_."

"Yeah, well you don't exactly have a record of being a harbinger of good news," I said, my voice still low, but irritated. I could feel my anger rising; triggered by her accusing words.

Cue another evil laugh. Her words were calculated and spiteful. "Look, you just tell him to go to hell. And while you're at it, you can go, too."

"Where are you going, Cruz?" I asked, my voice high and questioning.

"Excuse me?"

"I heard Lieu called you in…any idea what that's about?"

She was quiet. Finally she spoke up again. "No…what?"

I didn't answer her.

"Yokas, damn it! If you know what the fuck this is about I'd suggest you tell me, _now_."

"Or else what, Cruz?! You'll---" I stopped mid-sentence, lowering my voice as I remembered Bosco wasn't far away. If he knew I was talking to her…well…he'd go over the edge.

I could hear Cruz's heavy breathing on the other end…typical of her when she was angry because she felt she was losing. "They have a warrant for your arrest."

"Excuse me?"

"The FBI, goddamnit! Do I have to spell it out for you, Cruz?! They came in during roll call today, asked if we knew where you were. Lieu told them you were out on assignment, and they said they'd be back tonight at the end of your shift. …I take it you didn't see your WANTED sketch on the news, either."

"Bosco's gonna pay for this," she said quietly, rage disguised behind her words.

"Bosco didn't _say_ anything, Cruz. They had a witness."

"Liar! There was no one around, Yokas, _nobody_. Do I have to spell it out for you?!"

"Apparently you didn't look hard enough now, did you?"

"Me? I'm sorry, I must have been busy trying to convince your _partner_ that killing another cop wasn't a good idea!"

"That's not what he told me," I said, completely letting my purpose for the call fly out the window. I was too angry at her accusations now to even care about the outcome. "He said you helped, Cruz. Willingly, voluntarily…_helped_…"

"He's lying."

"Right, he's lying. What was I _thinking_, believing him over you?" I prompted sarcastically. "Well, I'm sure you've never carried out your share of street justice, Cruz."

"I don't _kill_ people!" she hissed. "I don't kill handcuffed prisoners and renowned cops!"

"You mean murderers and rapists. And no…no, you only cover it up, Cruz."

"Well this time I won't," she pointed out, her tone laden with false sincerity. "I should really be honest for a change shouldn't I? You're right, when—"

"Cruz, wait," I pleaded. "You can't do that…."

"I can't? What should I do, then? Go down for this, like I did for you? Well, I'm not, Yokas. _I'm not_. I'm not goin' back to _prison_, ever."

"He doesn't deserve this, Cruz," I said quietly.

"And I do?!" she squeaked. "He told me I wouldn't go down for this, Yokas. He _promised_ me it would all be on him. He _promised_ me! So I helped him! So I helped _you!_"

I closed my eyes tightly. Bosco never told me he'd promised to take the fall. He'd only said she'd joined him voluntarily; no guarantees that she wouldn't blamed. Surely he hadn't been lying.

"He doesn't deserve this," I repeated.

"Neither do I! I didn't _beat_ someone to death!"

"And you've never been raped, either."

"What?"

"I don't know, the name Warner just kinda comes to mind, is all."

"What the _fuck_ do you know about Warner?"

"Well," I offered. "I know he's dead."

She sighed. "So what am I supposed to do, Yokas? Tell me what I should say when they ask why someone saw me there."

"Deny it?" I suggested flatly.

"Deny it? These feds still have a grudge against me! Don't you get it? They're gonna twist this _inside out_ until they nail me!"

She paused for a second.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled finally. "I'm sorry. But I can't go back to prison. I won't."

"You'll go anyway, Cruz," I informed.

"And so will you," she replied. "Obstruction of justice? Withholding information? Isn't that great? Maybe we can all share a cell."

"You turn him in, then you're an accomplice," I told her, trying to ignore of her words. "What's the point in bringing him with you?"

"Maybe getting out sixty years before him."

I could hear her breathing on the other end for a few seconds, and then the line grew silent.

---------------------------------------------------------------- //

I snapped my cell phone shut, angrily throwing it on the car floor near my feet. I clenched my teeth. I could feel Manny's dark eyes just burning a hole in me.

_"Walker. Mathew Walker." I announced, lowering my voice as I finished informing him of the name. _

"That's right, Walker. Heard he was a cop, but, uh, I didn't know him very well."

"Yeah…" I trailed off, taking my eyes off his. It was too intimidating. There was no way I could keep going with his mysterious gaze directly on me.

"What about him?" he prompted after I went silent. His voice was full of concern…maybe even suspicion. But was it really that odd to bring up a cop who had recently been murdered? Especially one that uniforms from our shift knew? Unless of course, he was already linking it somehow with my recent outburst.

If so, he was way too smart for me. Much smarter than Bosco had ever been.

I glanced back him once more and took a deep breath, as he looked at me expectantly. We'd come to a red light, so he was now able to devote his soulful Labrador-like eyes to staring me down for an answer.

I'd explained to him how Bosco, Yokas and I were all tangled up in the disaster of Walker's murder. I have to say I'd spared him some details, though.

I looked up to me his gaze. His brown eyes were full of concern. Come to think of it, they always were. I guess the job kind of makes you look at everything with doubt and suspicion.

"They're arresting _you_ for it?" he asked finally, making a turn. Apparently he'd inferred at least that much from the one-sided conversation he heard.

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Well, it's cool, I'm used to it."

"Yeah, but Sarge, you didn't do--"

"I _said_ leave it, Manny!" I snapped, holding a hand up in aggravation. I watched his eyes. They didn't blink, widen… He really had become accustom to my attitude. "'Sides," I continued, lowering my voice again. "I won't be inside for long."

----------------------------------------------------------------------- //

I rolled over, catching myself just as I nearly toppled over the side. I was pretty disoriented, but I quickly realized I was in bed. I pulled myself into a sitting position, passing a hand across my forehead and wiping away the beads of sweat that had formed. I wasn't sure if it was from the heat of sun that was shining through the window and casting warmth onto the bed, or if it had been a nightmare.

It didn't matter if I was asleep or awake. The visions never went away. The voices never became less loud, the blood never less red…

The alarm clock on my bedside table presented the time in its intimidating digital font. 8:19 a.m.

My cell phone lay nearby, and I picked it up. The screen displayed several missed calls; all from Lieu. I shuddered and stood up, having to steady myself as a wave of nausea settled over me. I couldn't even think about what he'd had to say; I was too busy reliving the nightmares that kept me so out-of-tune to where the ringing had never even woken me.

_Why is it so fuckin' hot?_

I sucked in a breath as I made my way out into the living room, but the air felt hot and still, and my throat tightened. The room was blurry at first, but it began to slowly come into focus. I saw her figure on the couch; one leg outstretched, the other curled beneath her…her arms hugging herself protectively. The previous afternoon was coming back to me. Had I really slept all day and night?

_…So hot…_

I struggled to take in another breath. It felt like it was becoming harder and harder to breathe. It was an eerily familiar feeling…like the one I'd experience when I bolted from that alley all the way to my apartment. I'd felt so out of breath, so hot and so disconnected from the present time. Like I was hallucinating. But despite that the temperature was so exaggeratedly hot in this state; I still shivered every now and then, in reaction to the chills running through my body.

It wasn't until I'd taken a seat next to her that I saw her eyes were red-rimmed and glazed with residue from recently-shed tears. She hardly glanced at me.

"You okay?" she asked, her gaze still affixed to the floor.

"Yeah, fine, why?" I answered quickly, assuming my appearance had made some statement or something. Although, she hadn't even looked up since I came out.

"Still hot?"

"What?" I asked, a bit confused.

"When you never got up last night, I went in to check on you and you were yelling about how hot it was. I turned the A/C down. I don't know if that helped."

I shivered again. I didn't remember her coming into my room; I certainly didn't remember seeing, hearing or talking to her.

"Yeah, it's still hot. I dunno know why I'm so hot…" Okay, so the last part was a lie. I'd just relived the entire murder.

"Maybe you have a fever?" she wondered aloud, sitting up and looking at me for the first time. I felt her place her hand on my forehead and her expression turn to concern.

"I'm fine," I mumbled, pushing her hand away. Her motherly instinct made me think of Emily and Charlie. "How are the kids?"

"What?"

"The kids. Didn't you call them last night? Or…how long _did_ I sleep? Who's the President?"

She laughed; a mismatched expression atop her sad features.

"They're fine," she said, though her voice was filled with uncertainty. I tried to shrug it off.

"What's wrong?" I asked, taking notice of a fresh tear spilling from her eye.

She looked at me, her face twisting into a questioning expression. "What's wrong?" she asked scornfully. "Boz, look around. _Everything_ is 'wrong'. You…you can't even sleep without having nightmares…without…_hallucinating_. You don't think I notice, but I do. It's all over your face…the pain. And me? I'm a mess because I can't sleep…thinking…thinking…_he's_ gonna come in here…and…_he's dead_, Bosco. See? _Everything_ is wrong!"

I shook my head and stood up, pacing back and forth. "I'm not doing this, now…"

"Doing what?!" she shrieked.

I pointed a finger at her. "I am not," I started, struggling again to take in a breath. "Talking about this now. I am not."

"Right. What's new," she smiled caustically. "Why talk about it when you can pretend it isn't there? Well guess what, Bosco, it doesn't _go_ away. You can ignore it all you want, but it still happened. _I_ _still_ killed Mann, _you_ _still_ killed Walker and Cruz still _helped_!"

"No…no…no!" I shook my head violently. It was now—when I needed to concentrate most, that the persistent images started up again. My head pounded. "Shut up!" I didn't realize I was still holding my cell phone until it flew from my hand because I'd gripped it so tightly. I picked it up, and, noticing the voicemails I hadn't listened to, proceeded to call, holding it up to my ear. I glanced over at Faith as the ringing began, and shot her an angry glare. She returned the look and then put her head in her hands.

I shoved my left hand into my pocket nervously, still clutching the phone in my right as Swersky's voice cut in.

_"Hey Bosco, it's Lieu. I been trying to get a hold of you all night. Where the hell are you? Cruz just got—"_

I hadn't finished listening to his imperatively-toned message when a loud, impatient knock fell on the front door, followed by another. I dropped my cell phone, and Lieu's words immediately grew distant as it hit the floor. The sound of the heavy cell phone colliding onto the floor serviced at the sound effect behind the image of a badly injured Walker that flashed in my head, over and over. I shook my head hard, hoping I could shake image away. It worked. Temporarily, anyway.

I made my way to the door, feeling my heart pounding ruthlessly in my chest. Every step felt like it took weeks, because I'd flash back to different times…different places…to different people.

The knocks continued, louder this time, more impatient.

"I'm coming for God's sake!" I screamed, finally landing a hand on the doorknob. I pulled it open quickly, preparing to give the bastard a piece of my mind. I was greeted by a folded piece of paper, held in an outstretched hand. The sun was beating in through the hall window, and obstructing my view. All I could make out were two dark figures, and what looked like a few more behind them. Their voices were deep and unwavering.

"Officer Boscorelli," announced the taller one. I felt like he was staring me straight in the eye, but I still couldn't see clearly. "We have a warrant to search the premises."

I thought I heard Faith say something, as she rushed up behind me, but I couldn't make out the words. All the images I'd seen had cluttered together into one giant, haunting haze that blurred my vision; and the voices and screaming had dulled into one monotonous drone that had screwed up hearing, too. I fell back against the wall as the figures intrusively passed by me, shouting out instructions on where to look and what to look for. If there was any color left in my face, I felt it drain away, just before I slid down and collapsed onto the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

I rested my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes with my fingers. I was tapping the floor with my feet and rapping my knuckles on the table nervously, awaiting their return. If they'd hit a dead end, I was screwed. If they hadn't found—_Stop it. Stop._

I took a deep breath, trying to remain a bit more positive. I wasn't sure what aspect of situation was tearing me apart more – knowing my information may not have dished out, or knowing that if it had, I was sending Bosco away forever. _And_ I was breaking up a bond that I'd originally tried to salvage. But it was better him than me, right?

Shivering for a second time, I adjusted my weight in the chair. It was a foreign position for me – being on the opposite side of an interrogation. All the tables were turned. Everything was against me. All the bullshit I'd fed my suspects had been given to me line-by-line. I'd held off on a PBA, thinking after ten years I knew the law well enough to wheedle my way out of things. Crossing my fingers, though, I realized what a mistake that might have been if Lane had turned up nothing at Bosco's place – if Bosco had crafted some fraudulent alibi with all of his uniform buddies and had ditched the murder weapon off the Brooklyn Bridge.

The door swung open.

Lane looked at me, grinning sarcastically as usual and clutching a file folder. Lot of memories came back with that sardonic smile. I shook it off. I wasn't here to deal with the past. Come the end of the week, I'll be back in Anti-Crime with Manny and I won't give a shit _where_ Bosco is.

I waited for him to speak. He didn't. He just kept that foul smirk on his face until I could help but throw in a remark. "Took long enough."

"Yeah," he said finally, hunching over the table. His sidekick stood close to the door, watching intently. "Seems him and that…partner of his you shot last year make a good pair. Bastards hid it pretty good."

"But you found it?"

"Hmm. Blood and all." Lane nodded.

"That's…uh…good." I told him, mirroring his nod.

"Gotta wait for DNA, though. If alls a match, Boscorelli'll be in custody within thirty-six hours."

I pursed my lips together tightly, nodding again. Was I supposed to jump up and down? Thank him for sparing me time as an accomplice? I was helping put away a good cop. One of the best I knew. Was I supposed to feel good about it?

"It'll match."

"Will it, Maritza?" he whispered, leaning closer. I looked up at him.

"Yeah, yeah it will," I declared matter-of-factly. This bastard still think I'm working for him? What is this?

"Yeah, see," he began snidely. "What I'm wondering is what we're gonna do when forensics pulls two sets of prints…"

"You're gonna….take the one you need and toss mine out. That was the deal, Lane."

He nodded insincerely.

"That _was_ the deal!"

"Yeah, yeah," he agreed. "No problem."

"Look," I said softly, calculating my words. "If you're gonna be a lying bastard and come after me because just nailing one cop isn't good enough, then be prepared to kick Bosco loose."

"Bosco, huh?"

"That's what I said," I confirmed, sneering. "If I'm goin', there's no reason to put him inside, too."

"Sounds like you two are tight."

"Were."

"Before you paralyzed Yokas?"

"Precisely," I glanced up at his partner, who had hardly moved since the two stepped in. "Wow. Lane here's pretty good at piecin' together the puzzle, huh?" I put on my best smile.

Lane scoffed. "Alright, Maritza. One more thing?"

"Shoot."

"Why'd you help him?"

"Help him?"

"Don't play stupid, _Cruz_!" he snarled, slamming his fist on the table. "_Why_ did you help Officer Boscorelli _murder_ Officer Walker?"

"Because Matthew Walker was scum!" I screamed, standing up as my temper flared.

"Is that so? Because it seems he was different person to the majority," he flipped open the file he'd been holding and slapped it down in front of me. I caught a glimpse of Walker's picture, stapled to the documents. You could only see him from the neck up, but he appeared to be wearing his blues. His dark hair was combed neatly, and he was smiling. I shivered when I recalled how different he'd looked the last time I'd seen him, and how the ME had to go by DNA to identify him, because Bosco had left him so unrecognizable.

"Let's see…" Lane continued. "'A devout member of the NYPD for over twelve years. Faithful husband, devoted father… Awarded Medal for Valor in 1999 for disarming a gunman who had opened fire on fifteen fellow officers during a gun battle at the'---"

"That's enough, Lane," I interrupted, tossing my hands up. "He got a divorce three years ago; his wife got custody of their son because he was an alcoholic. They don't even live in New York. How's that for devoted? All that is crap and you know it. Even the Medal for Valor part."

"With only six years on the force back then, I'd say otherwise, wouldn't you?"

"No. " I finally answered.

"See, I think the majority would disa—"

"Screw the majority!" I shouted, shaking my head and nearly spitting as I raised my voice. "He didn't rape the _majority_. Matthew Walker was nothing but a corrupt excuse for a cop and a rapist and you know it."

"Are you justifying what Officer Boscorelli did?" his partner spoke up, stepping forward the first time.

I glared at him. "Go to hell."

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Lane decided, waiting for me to shift my attention back to him. The air was laden with tension and anger. I clenched my fists.

"I thought we had a deal, Lane. Why are you doing this?"

"You seem to know a lot about Walker."

I shrugged. "Ran into him a few times. People talked."

"He's been on the job longer than you, Ritza."

"Doesn't make what he did okay."

"Look, I just want you to know what you're risking," he said calmly. "I can't protect you from everything. It was your idea to come clean. I'll do my part; whatever happens after that is not my problem."

"That's all I'm asking," I told him, lowering my voice as well.

"Great," he said, taking a deep breath. He grinned again and outstretched his hand. _Bastard._ I shook it reluctantly and then headed to the door.

"It was good to do business with you again, Sergeant Cruz," he called out.

I stopped between the doorjamb, smiling bitterly and realizing it would have been possible to _swim_ in the amount of sarcasm that saturated his words. I shot him one last look before I walked out. "Screw you, Roy."

---------------------------------------------------------- //

I'm not exactly sure how long I'd sat there, my back plastered against the wall just inside my doorway. It felt like time kind of stopped; things sort of froze. I can't really think of another way to explain it. I guess I haven't had much practice explaining the feeling you get when you watch your own searching your home for a murder weapon…trying to pin _you_ for a crime.

So, I never looked at my watch, or at a clock or anything. I never asked Faith what time it was either. I guess I didn't really want to know. I didn't want to believe that time was even passing. Because that meant they were processing everything; all the evidence I'd failed to hide or destroy. Because I'd been so arrogant as to think I'd gotten away with it. Why? Because I'd briefly scanned the neighborhood and didn't see anyone peering through their blinds? I'd left the murder weapon at the scene, knowing my adversary was going to pick it up, keep it for awhile and then give it back just before she turned me in.

Why I'd asked her for help to begin with, I have no idea. I think what I needed that night was a driver; I had been in no shape to operate anything but a weapon. Anyway, I didn't need Cruz to help me. Hell, I took care of Walker by myself. So what if she'd gotten him out of his apartment. I wasn't trying to spare the carpet, or anything. And it was her that someone had seen fleeing the scene, not me. It was her fucking portrait plastered on the local news, not mine. I wouldn't have sat in my apartment for hours watching crime scene techs analyze every corner and crevice if I just hadn't asked Cruz for help.

It never fully occurred to me that I simply could have held off on killing him altogether. That just didn't seem like it'd been option. The only thing that kept replaying over and over in my head was how everything would've gone smoothly if I'd just left Cruz out of it. If I just hadn't trusted her.

"You ready?" I heard Faith ask, interrupting my thoughts. My resentful, malicious thoughts about how Cruz hadn't kept her word. But she'd never really given me her word. In fact, I'd told her if anyone were to find out, it was all on me. And it was now, it really all was. I was willing to take the blame; I _expected_ to. I'd counted the cost before I did it, albeit I may have been in a not-so-stable state of mind. But I'd gone over things before. How I'd always be willing to sacrifice for Faith; to go to jail if it meant bringing her justice. I knew the system; Walker would never have gone to prison. Defense would hardly have had to lift a finger before he'd be a free man, so I had to play the prosecution's role. And I knew what would happen. It just never really occurred to me that I had all that much to lose. After never having a father, losing Mikey, being shot…I guess I forgot about Ma, Faith and my job. I didn't _want_ to lose them, to only see them through plexiglas on their infrequently-allowed visits to Attica, Rikers…wherever the hell they planned on sending me. I didn't _want_ to leave my job behind, or the two people that made up the only family I had left. I didn't _want_ to. But I would. If it meant they were safe.

"Boz? Earth to Bosco?" Her voice cut in again, sharper this time, causing me to look up in a panic. She was tugging on my shirt. Guess I'd gotten lost again, thinking. I did too much of that in past the day and half – that's how long it was since they turned my place upside down for any clues to tie me to Walker's murder. God. If they'd told me they planned on trashing the place this much, I'd of fucking confessed.

"Huh? What?" I shook my head, hoping to shake away any confusion along with it.

"You ready?" she asked, jingling keys around in her hand. "We're going to the House, remember? You lost it for a second…"

"Oh, right," I followed her to the door.

"You okay?" she shot me a typical look of concern.

I grinned bitterly. "Fucking fantastic. Can we go now?"

----------------------------------------------------------- //

I have no idea how I convinced Bosco to go to the House with me, considering he'd refused to leave for a day and a half following the search. Lieu had called non-stop, but Bosco refused to speak to him, leaving me to take that part. Lieu explained that FBI had pulled Cruz out the very night she'd had the argument with Bosco, and that as far as he knew she hadn't copped to anything that would get her in trouble. The only thing that was suspicious to me was how IAB hadn't burrowed their way into this disaster and fashioned their own little nest. It made me think about Cruz's connections to the FBI, specifically the two that tried to question me after I'd been shot, halted beforehand, though, by Fred.

So while Lieu and I tried to piece together what Cruz had done exactly, Bosco said nothing, did nothing. Just stared ahead as if he was there only physically, but as if _he_ was gone. His eyes had been soulless, emotionless, and completely staid.

I saw the same nothingness in his eyes as we prepared to leave for the House. I couldn't help but ask if he was okay, though I knew he had no reason to be.

"Fucking fantastic," he replied bitterly. "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, we can go," I said, hurrying out the door. He followed close behind.

"You know," he added, as we walked down the stairs. "Not much use goin' to the House, but I guess I should at least say goodbye, huh?"

His words stung me; they stung deep. They made me feel guilty that I'd ever been a victim. I know that wasn't his intention; he was just freaking out. I'd freaked out when I thought my attempts for immunity would fall through the cracks. The true brunt of what I'd done had really hit me then. I couldn't imagine the weight that was coming down on his shoulders – he had no chance for immunity of any sort. Captain Finney was dead, and nobody wanted Cruz anymore. They wanted him. They wanted someone the family could blame and therefore achieve a false sense of justice; they wanted a scapegoat to bring down for Walker's murder. Ironically, they'd found the right one.

And the press would really love that he was cop, himself, too.

I sighed as we got to the bottom of steps and made our way to the car. I really thought I'd gotten into some deep shit when I shot Donald Mann. I'd never expected to slither my way out of that, and it had been a close call. So I wasn't sure what hope I was supposed to be holding out for any of us, when my partner had bludgeoned another cop to death, his accomplice had turned him in to the FBI, and I was a co-conspirating with my own boss to figure out why.

---------------------------------------------------------- //

"There you are, Bosco," I heard Lieu call as Faith and I stepped in. He immediately rounded the front desk and beckoned me into a nearby office. Blindly, I followed him. Faith stayed outside, but I don't doubt she was listening to every word.

"Where the hell have you been, Bosco?" he whispered harshly. "You don't take my calls? You _refuse_ to talk to me? I was trying to warn you, Bosco. Give you the heads up. I don't even know what I'm doing. I shouldn't know this!"

"No, boss, you shouldn't."

I watched him grit his teeth in frustration. "You are making this _really_ hard for me to help you, Bosco."

"You can't help me now, Lieu," I raised my hand and my voice. "They found everything. The blood, my baton. And…and you know Cruz cracked. She wouldn't go back to prison for a day for a million."

"That's because she wouldn't come out _alive_ with the amount of people she's put away."

I shrugged, watching Swerksy as he paced around in a circle, running a hand over his head. Stress, worry, fatigue…it plagued his face and expression. "God, Bosco… You need to get yourself a PBA and you need to try----"

"What the hell is a PBA gonna do for me now, Lieu?! What?!"

He didn't answer, and I abruptly headed to the door, turning only to give him a solemn look and a lame apology. "I'm sorry, Lieu."

With that, I headed out of the office, ignoring Faith's questions about what he'd said, and aimed for the locker room. I found Ty and Sully at their lockers, proceeding to put on their uniforms, and I waited until Finney and a few other officers cleared out and headed for roll call before I started to talk. I could feel Faith behind me though, and I turned to face her.

"I'll just be a second," I said softly, watching her features fall.

"What…there some other secret? Come on, Boz, I've heard it all."

"Faith…please." She appeared hurt, but she shrugged and left. Satisfied, I turned back to Sully and Davis, who were watching expectantly. Sully was the first to speak.

"You don't look so good, Bosco," he remarked, looking me up and down. Probably noting the same clothes I'd been in for three days, my pale, drawn face or my eyes that had mysteriously changed color overnight. I don't know. Is bloodshot a color?

"Yeah, well," I hesitated. "What can I say."

They both nodded in understanding.

"I'm not gettin' out of this, guys," I began, my voice quivering. "So I just---."

"Bosco," Ty cut in. "There's gonna be something we can do, if you just--."

"No," I interrupted. "Ty, please. There isn't. Not like that."

He looked at me sadly.

"But," I continued. "I wanted to ask you two a favor."

"Anything," Sully agreed promptly. "Anything."

I nodded gratefully. "I want you to…I want…I want you to watch out for them. Please. For me? Watch after them?" I felt a lump forming in my throat; that telltale ache in the back of your mouth when you're struggling not to cry. I swallowed hard.

"Just make sure they're not always alone, you know? Don't let her forget you're here. She'll say she doesn't need anyone to talk to because she tries to be strong, but it's just a front, she really needs somebody…after what happened." I glanced up as they nodded supportively, and I tried my best to battle the tears, though my attempts didn't hold up. "And Ma…she just, needs someone, you know? Cause she doesn't have Mikey any more and she's always---."

"Okay. Bosco?" Sully interceded, stepping forward and placing his hand on my shoulder. I felt obligated to look up at him, pretending my eyes weren't glazed with overdue tears. "It's okay."

I nodded again, and turned to the door. "Thanks…then…that's all. Thank-you," I stuttered.

I hadn't quite reached for the door when Ty's voice broke in, causing me to turn around. "There's gotta be something else we can do, too?"

"You can testify," I suggested, pushing my way out of the locker room without waiting for a response. Both rushed out after me though, determined not to let me leave on such a hopeless note.

Not surprisingly, a gleaming gold badge greeted us not too many feet away. Sully stopped in his tracks, Davis not far behind him. I spotted Faith next to them; apparently her idea of leaving the locker room was to stand right next to the door.

"Roy Lane," Sully observed, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," Lane announced, faux delight coating his tone. "Sullivan. You remember me."

"Who could forget a son of a bitch like you?"

"Well, fear not, Sullivan. Case doesn't concern you. It concerns Boscorelli, here." He turned his smirk to me, and I was happy to repay him with one of my own. I watched him look over his shoulder at an unfamiliar uniform. "Tanner," he ordered. "Cuff Boscorelli and confiscate his weapon, please." The young officer nodded and did as he was told. I hardly flinched as he took my off-duty gun, and proceeded to tighten handcuffs around my wrist. I didn't speak. I just glared at Lane, occasionally shifting my gaze to Faith who was becoming increasingly unstable on her feet, and to Sully, Ty and many others that had taken notice of the scene and were staring, mouths agape.

Jelly, for instance, had stopped on his journey upstairs, did a double take and was now staring stupidly at the cup of coffee he'd just dropped. Cruz was lingering not far down the hall, timidly peaking around the corner. I tried to set her on fire with my eyes; will her to like, spontaneously combust or something, but I didn't succeed.

I felt like stone standing there; my feet felt as if they'd accumulated a dozen times their weight. I couldn't move, I could hardly breathe. I just observed. I felt as if I were watching the scene unfold from another angle, and I could see myself close my eyes as I heard the voice…

"Officer Boscorelli," Lane announced; a sly grin on his face. He took my arm roughly, but I wrenched away from it. "You're under arrest for the murder of Officer Matthew Walker."

A whimper caught my attention, and I turned to see Faith collapsing, only to be caught mid-way by Sully who was whispering something in an effort to be supportive. I couldn't hear him well though, his words sounded slurred to me as I watched; they seemed in slow motion. The ensuing rights that Lane read off to me sounded just as distant and incoherent.

I took my first steps away from the locker room door, feeling unsteady on my own feet. My legs were heavy, so heavy, and they seemed to shake under my weight. The exit felt like a long way off with how difficult walking had suddenly become. I could feel eyes on me still as I very slowly began to go forward, and I turned around, Ty's eyes glued to mine in an instant. I could see Sully's figure to the left of him, struggling to keep Faith from completely crumbling onto the floor. Her sobs were desperate and clear. I didn't understand why I'd managed to nearly drown out all the voices…but hers.

--------------------------------------------------- //

I could see him watching her, tears filling his eyes. It didn't look like he was trying to hold them in any longer; they were pooling under his eyes and overflowing in streams. His expression when he looked at her made me cringe. It was so desperate, so remorseful. And I just stood there, next to Sully, my arms at my side in defeat. Just stood there, because there was nothing that I could do.

When he finally broke his gaze from her and his eyes landed on mine, I could feel my own burning. I didn't want him to look at me. Not when I couldn't help him; not when I had nothing to say to him to make the situation any better.

I was grateful when he spoke, thinking perhaps if someone broke this tense stare with something other than crying and screaming, I might be able to hold off on my own tears.

His voice crackled and he sounded years over his age.

"Tell Ma I said sorry."

That's all he said to me, then he turned on an uncoordinated foot and started to walk in the opposite direction. He didn't wait long enough to see me nod in silent promise. I thought I was watching him walk away from the 55th for the last time. I didn't think we'd ever see him again; at least not in some place other than behind bars. And I was sure we'd never again see him strolling in for a shift.

So it might be my general optimism that sparked the smallest flame of hope inside, though, when I watched him snarl at the officer accompanying him and Lane outside.

"Get your hands off me, Jagoff!"

--------------------------------------------- //

Her crying died down to a low whimper several minutes after Bosco walked away. Still, though, she kept her tear-streaked face burrowing against my shoulder, mumbling something about how it was her fault. I could feel her tears seeping through my shirt, reminding me that she'd been crying out of guilt. Not that it was true, but that's what she thought. She thought she was responsible.

I looked up at Ty who had been watching the door wistfully ever since it swung closed a dozen yards up ahead. He finally turned his head so he could face me. If it were at all possible, his features seemed to fall even more when he saw us.

"Can…they do that, Sul?" he asked finally. "I mean…can they…"

"Think so, Ty," I nodded solemnly. I couldn't think of anything else to say. I was still taking everything in; still trying to piece together the parts of the situation that I never knew, and still didn't know.

Faith finally pulled her head back from where it was resting on my shoulder. Her face was glistening from the presence of tears, and red from where they'd burned her skin as they constantly fell.

"This isn't your fault, Faith," Ty offered. "Sully's right. It's not your fault."

She laughed bitterly, a disturbing jump between emotions. "It is, though," she started. She brought herself to her feet, though unsteady, and focused her attention on me. "Remember when you brought me home? From the hospital?"

I nodded. Maybe I was going to get another piece of the jigsaw.

"He told me he was going to _do_ something, Sully. He told me, and I didn't stop him."

Ty furrowed a brow. "You didn't know he--."

Between more tears, she continued. "But I could've guessed. I could've done _something_, but I didn't! I didn't care what he did. Because _I_ was afraid."

Her voice was strained. "Faith---." I put a hand on her shoulder supportively, but she backed away.

"_No._ This was my fault…"

"What was whose fault?"

We looked up at Swersky who was standing behind us. He didn't question why we hadn't been a roll call. His face looked tense and fraught with anxiety. We didn't elaborate.

"Where's Bosco?" he inquired, his voice far from his usual tone of good-natured authority. It was fragile and defeated. I watched him follow all of our eyes as we gazed past him toward the door. The hall had about cleared, save for us, and everyone, including Cruz, had gone back to whatever they were doing. Or at least were trying to, anyway.

Lieu watched in the opposite direction. I couldn't see his expression, but I could predict it. I was probably mimicking it. Part of me wanted to walk over to him, but I remained in place in case Faith lost her balance again; deluged by an overwhelming episode of stress, guilt and desperation. So I just stood, prepared to offer my shoulder again should it be needed. Her, Ty and me were peering at the door just as Lieu was doing, as if we thought that maybe if we stared at it long enough, _hard enough_, maybe he'd burst back inside and make some wise remark as to why were all standing around gawking at him, and not in uniform, prepared to hit the streets. We watched as we thought by some miracle, we'd all just lived a terrifying nightmare, and were on the verge of waking up.

I'm guessing each of us had watched someone different walk away. I don't know what Lieu was thinking; and I'm normally good at reading Ty, but it would be beyond my expertise to describe who he watched walk away with silver lacing his wrists. I might guess that Faith saw someone different from all of us leaving; her partner, her best friend, someone she'd killed for and, in return, had done the same for her. But the person I saw walk away, wasn't the same to anyone else. I saw a pain in the ass. He'd blatantly ignored my orders, mocked my advice... ridiculed the way I'd trained Ty. He'd been rude and obnoxious; he'd been insulting. But I also saw a confidant, because next to few other people, he'd been one of the best friends I had. We'd gotten along better as time went on, but we never coincided very well. Still, we shared some understanding that we'd have each others backs; some unspoken brand of brotherhood. I can't explain it much better than that.

That's who I saw walk away.

Crap.

\\


	9. Chapter 9

"Boscorelli?"

A gruff voice snapped me from the robotic trance I'd been in. I yelped as I wrenched my back around to see who had called me, cringing as the pain seared up my spine. I vaguely remembered having been sitting with my back plumb to the wall for the entire night, but that must have been why it was so painfully cramped. Swallowing hard, I made my way off of the cot, facing a tall, sandy-haired C/O. His hands were rested on his belt, his eyes hazy and bored.

"Ya gawt visitors," he announced flatly, obviously not very entertained by the whole situation. I saw years of the job in his bloodshot eyes, and in his premature grey hair. He'd seen it all.

He rattled with a cluster of keys before sliding the door ajar, and preparing to affix cuffs to my wrists in front of me. I looked at him nervously with a silent plea.

"Ya know I gawt ta," he informed, his southern drawl especially explicit. I nodded acceptingly and followed him out the door and down the hall, clanging my wrists together as I looked at the instruments that held them together. As if they thought I was so dangerous, I might attack a C/O in the visiting room. They were such a familiar object, but on me, they were foreign and scary. I swallowed hard again, but this time it wasn't because of pain in my back…it was an attempt to keep down the tears that were stinging at the back of my eyes.

Mid-way, I glanced at the muscular man's arm, catching a glimpse of his plated nametag. It read "Turner", and nothing else. I kept my gaze on him for the better part of the walk, silently wondering what his story was and how a redneck like him had wound up a jaded corrections officer in upstate New York. He didn't notice my staring; just kept walking blindly, knowing the route so well, he could have closed his light-tortured eyes and spared them by walking the hall by heart. But he couldn't do that. He had to supervise me – the dangerous, murderous felon. I chided myself for my bitter thoughts. After all, he probably wondered what a thirteen-year veteran of the NYPD was doing locked up in Malone's medium security prison. But then again, judging by his expressionless face, he really didn't look like he gave a damn.

I wasn't exactly sure who I was expecting as we neared the room. Certainly not...Sully?

------------------------------------------------------------------ //

I watched the C/O stop Bosco as he entered, and tell him something, though I was on the opposite end of the sound-proof glass, and I couldn't hear. Probably something about how he'd need to rush, because he was only allotted like fifteen-minutes of visitation.

I scoffed. Some visitation. We got to look at each other through scratched Plexiglas and talk on a phone for a fraction of a second. What was I supposed to accomplish in such short a time? Tell him I was sorry and wish him the best? Tell him I wished things hadn't turned out the way they had, but to take a deal and say 'hi' to the skels on death row?

I didn't really have anymore time to think of the nothings or negative somethings I could tell him, before he'd taken a seat before me. He looked at me, opening his eyes as wide as they'd permit – which wasn't all that wide, considering his eyelids were heavy and tired. Wouldn't take Einstein to infer that he hadn't gotten any sleep. But something other than the evidence of sleep-deprivation caught my attention. An ugly, purple-black bruise had developed on his jawbone, creating a patch of traumatized, almost-broken skin. Impressions in the discoloration eerily resembled knuckles.

Bosco's lips were moving behind the glass, so I motioned to the telephone beside him, before picking up my own. He looked embarrassed, the start of a shy smile forming on the corners of his mouth. It was short-lived.

"Forget I can't hear you?" I asked trivially. It was a stale attempt to lighten the mood.

"Sorry," he said bitterly, holding the receiver much too close to his lips. His breathing sounded rushed. "Never had to use one from this side before."

I nodded solemnly, and then turned my attention back to his face. The bruise wasn't the only thing that offered hints of his being unwell. His skin was pale and flushed, much like it had been ever since the incident, though it looked only to be worsening. His eyes were still bloodshot, his lips chapped and bloody where it appeared he'd been punched, or had chewed them so nervously that he'd drawn blood. As if that weren't depressing enough, his eyes had never managed to return to their natural piercing blue, but were instead gray and sunken.

"What happened to you, Bosco?" I asked. I didn't intend for my voice to sound accusing. I wasn't questioning his morality, I was referring to the wound he'd accrued on his jaw, but I realized quickly my words sounded different.

He didn't respond angrily, though, like I though he might. In a way, that worried me more. It was as if, since everything, he'd completely lost himself. He wasn't Bosco anymore, he didn't care to stand up for himself, and the only thing left of him was an empty outer shell of the man he used to be. Of the _cop_ he used to be.

"I got caught." He stated plainly, looking down.

I swiped a frustrated hand over my aging face. "No, no, Bosco," I corrected. "What happened to your face?" I motioned to my own jaw, hoping he'd get the drift.

"Nothin'," he lied, not meeting my gaze.

I settled back in my chair. "Come on, Bosco."

He snapped his neck up suddenly, using the meek energy he had left to snap at me. "I got decked Sully! Okay?" he began to lower his voice, guilt raging in his dry, bored eyes. "But don't worry 'bout it. I'm alone now, so, I'm good."

"Alone," I mumbled. I often mumbled the last words that people said, especially when I could relate. I didn't mean to say it aloud.

"What?"

"Nothin'," I covered. "Nothin'. …I was gonna come earlier," I told him, feeling a pang of guilt in my chest. "Ty, too. But they wouldn't let us for two days. Said you were still bein' processed."

He gave me a nod of understanding. "It's fine. Whatever. Whole fuckin' House doesn't need to come visit me. 'Sides, not much to see here." He motioned outside the confines of the short privacy walls on either side of our faces. There was at least a dozen other prisoners beside him, each wearing the same degrading shade of orange. An elderly man sat to the right of me, speaking to who appeared to be his son. As I nosily peeked around the corner to my left, a well-kept young man was making flamboyant gestures on the other side of the glass. There was a wild look in his eyes; a look I'd seen too many times in the eyes of the perps I'd arrested. Turning back to Bosco, it was clear he didn't have that in his. His eyes were dry – the result of a broken spirit – but they were also sane. Bosco didn't belong here.

"Well, maybe Loverboy over here can loan you some makeup," I offered, nodding my head to the young man beside him. I motioned to the bruise on Bosco's cheek. "You don't want your mom to see that."

"Ma? She's here, Sul?" he nearly squeaked. My heart burned at the tone of his voice. There was rarely a time when his voice sounded so fragile. He sounded like a child.

"No, no," I stuttered quickly. "She wanted to come right away, but they wouldn't let her. Only reason _I_ even got in now is 'cause I got the badge. My bet is no civilians for another week, but I ain't brushed up on Corrections for two decades."

He was nodding slowly, processing my words. "Ma," he mumbled, his lip quivering "God." He looked up suddenly, his eyes awakening for a brief second with a flash of concern. It wasn't all the time that I could read Bosco – hell, there were people a lot closer to him than me – but this look of worry was tell-tale. I knew instantly.

"She," I began, shaking my head. I wasn't sure how to explain why his partner wasn't the first one to visit him. Actually, I could do it pretty easily. But I was trying not to break his heart.

"Spit it out, Sul," he pleaded. I stole another quick glance into his lost eyes; so dead, so gray; soulless. I wasn't sure they could become any emptier, so I decided to tell him the truth.

"She tried to come with me today. There was visitation this morning, too, but she didn't make it through the first door before she hit her knees, crying and screaming," he looked at me, expressionless. I realized I was being blunt, but I wasn't about to keep anything from him. He'd loathe me more for that. "Then she started hitting on this guard, but I got her back. She was sayin' how you didn't belong here. That you did it for her and that she should be here, not you. Anyway, guards said she posed a threat. Wouldn't let her in. I'm sorry."

He shrugged and shook his head.

"You screwed up, Bosco," I informed suddenly, immediately regretting my words. They were harsh and accusing. Not my intent, and yet, it was.

He glared at me. "She needed me."

"She needs you more now, Bosco!" I declared, raising my voice. "She needs someone to talk to; someone to be there for her."

"I _was_ there for her," he snarled into the phone. His lips moved angrily.

"No you weren't, Bosco," I continued, too caught up in the moment to realize how little good my words were doing anyone. "You got yourself put away. Taken from her. How was that bein' there for her?"

"Shut-up, Sully," he seethed, settling back into his chair.

I scoffed. "You think this was the right way? The only way? If you'd have just had her press charges and then pursued it, he would have gone to trial and - ."

"Walked," Bosco finished. "He would've walked, Sully. And you know it," he wrinkled his nose. "And…and since when do we do things the right way?"

"Bosco, what I'm saying is that you--"

"Tatiana."

I stopped, completely silenced by his words. "What?" I finally managed, watching him lean close to the glass.

"Don't tell _me_ I didn't do things the right way. Chevchenko never pulled his gun, did he, Sul?" he grinned bitterly. "Didn't think so."

With that, he settled back into his seat, trying to regain a better hold of the telephone, although it was difficult without free hands. I just stared at him, completely unprepared to be inundated with two-year old memories that I'd vowed to forget. I shuddered.

"You been to court?" I asked, my voice low and guttural. I was still battling the haunting recollections as they intruded.

He sighed. "Yesterday."

"And? What's the bail?"

"Bail?" he scoffed. "Judge said he couldn't set bail for someone charged with a felony, let alone someone he 'deemed a dangerous hazard to our society'."

"Didn't take your years on the street into consideration?" I asked sadly.

"Not sure I wanted him to."

"When's the trial?"

"June 27th, I think," he told me, squinting as he tried to remember.

We were silent for a moment; both seemingly trying to read what was going on in the other's mind. I was unsuccessful in my attempt. I'm sure there was too much going on in his brain for even a renowned psychic to try to decipher. I gave up.

"They're moving me," he stated suddenly. "Over in Seneca. Five Points."

"Five Points?" I questioned, furrowing my eyebrows. "Maximum security? That necessary?"

"Apparently they think I'm pretty dangerous, Sul."

"You haven't even been convicted," I defended, trying to grasp the judge's rationality. I found none. I silently wondered if Bosco's case had ever even been presented fairly, or if he'd been implied a vengeful rogue cop.

He shrugged. "Four months. Guess they figure I could escape from here in that length of time," he lowered his voice to a bitter whisper. He was still trying to keep up that façade – that one front he always wore. It was pretty worn down, but he was milking it for whatever it had left that might make him at least look more resolute. I could see through it though, and he was falling apart.

I wasn't sure he'd _make_ the four months until his trial. Whatever happened to the Sixth Amendment?

I saw the corrections officer motioning for Bosco that his time was up. He turned back to me, his mouth caught open in a small "o", but more as if it were mirroring the terror inside of him. The terror of me – someone he never thought he'd need – leaving. The last person anywhere near him that he knew. And it scared me to leave him, too. I could only promise him one thing.

"I'll be back, Bosco," I croaked into the phone. "I'll bring your mom by tomorrow, okay? If she's ready."

He nodded appreciatively, but eyed me, warning me not to stop on that note.

"Faith," I sighed. "I don't know. I don't think she'll be here tomorrow, Bos."

Shrugging, he held his hand up in a slight wave and went to hang up the phone. I motioned for him to pick it up again.

"Wait," I said slowly, rising to my feet. "Just…uh…take it one day at a time, okay?"

His face suddenly went whiter, if that was at all possible, and he looked like he might vomit or cry – or both – at any second. He gasped. "I'm workin' on the next ten minutes."

With that, I followed his lead as he hung up the phone, and then I watched the C/O guide him away. He didn't look back.

"That's the spirit," I mumbled softly to him, though he was long gone. Our last few words sounded painfully familiar, though I'm not exactly sure why. Shaking it off, I hoisted myself to my feet, turned and headed for an exit.

--------------------------------------------------- //

Turner led me back to my cell, completely silent. I inwardly willed him to speak. Personally, I found his profound southern drawl creepy, but I longed for the concrete stillness to be broken. Things were so quiet, and cold. It was a strange silence that I just wasn't used to, and the thought of having to become accustomed to it scared the shit out of me.

The cell door clanged shut after I entered; a routine sound that my ears hardly raised question at. The only difference was that I was normally the one closing it, not watching it from the other side as metal met metal and it locked. I peered through the bars. The hall was exceptionally quiet for this time of day, and a chill in the air made the atmosphere all the more unfriendly.

"They're bringin' ya to Five Points, Boscorelli," Turner finally said.

"So I heard," I replied, looking down at my feet. A reminder of my ominous near future wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear him say.

"Don't give 'em any hard time over there, ya hear?"

I scoffed, sliding myself onto the stiff cot and ignoring my back as it throbbed at the prospect of laying on something so uncomfortable. _That's me...a troublemaker._

"I don't belong here," I called softly, catching him as he turned on a heavy heel to leave.

He sighed deeply, his heritage prominent even in the breath he drew. "Yeah, probably not."

His answer left me silent, if not completely hopeless. I leaned against the cement wall and closed my eyes, listening to his footsteps as he plodded his way in the opposite direction.

\\


	10. Chapter 10

I finished securing the last button my jacket as I stood before the mirror, smoothing out the wrinkles of my blues with one hand, as I picked up a brush in the other. I pulled the teeth of the brush through my damp hair, wincing as it tore at the tangles. I could feel my eyes stinging and my throat burning; a warning that I was about to cry. My lip was trembling; ever so slightly, but enough that I could tell. I sucked in a breath and looked at my watch, determined to keep my composure. I knew if I lost it now, I'd never gain it back in time.

It'd been four months since Bosco opened the door to his fate. Literally. And four months since he'd slid down the wall and collapsed, staring robotically ahead as if his soul had completely died. He'd never protested, he'd never demanded to see a closer view of the warrant. He hadn't stood up and pulled a typical version of himself, demanding to know who the hell they thought they were and what they were doing. I'd rushed up to him just before his legs buckled from beneath him, and I saw the defeat in his expression. So he'd just sat there, waiting for them to get what they'd come for and then leave after promising he'd be hearing from them soon.

I'll never forget how long I stayed beside him, holding his arm supportively as he gazed off at nothing, not blinking, not speaking. I still wonder if he was asking himself if it had been worth it. If what he'd done had been worth the consequences he'd been about to face. I never asked, but I knew the answer.

I couldn't keep myself from going back to the day following the day of the search. The day I'd talked him into going back to House to at least make an attempt to mitigate the severity of situation; perhaps get a PBA, maybe let Lieu see if he could give him some leverage. He took me up on the advice that he should go in, but refused the rest. I didn't really blame him at the time, seeing as though the entire situation had pretty much felt hopeless. Still, I remember being crushed that of all people, Bosco would let them take him down without a fight.

I finished brushing my hair, shivering as it fell cold and still slightly wet against my shoulders. Then I leaned against the sink, that day replaying in my mind over and over. His words, or rather, the lack thereof. His expression. So dead, so emotionless. His expression never changed when my mind switched to the prison where he ended up. I remember trying to visit him the very next day, only to be told I wasn't allowed. I think if I had been able to then, it would have been easier. Instead I had to wait, dwelling on what the outcome would be. So I wasn't surprised that when Sully tried to walk me in for a second time, I broke down, struggling against my feet that were trying to run the other way. Thinking that perhaps if I avoided Five Points altogether, it couldn't possibly prove to be real.

I replayed those days over and over again; the painful visits that at first consisted of only tear-laden silence, and then morphed into hushed discussions about his fast-approaching trial. I'd found that we were pretty adept at changing from an emotionally shocked state to a literal life or death fight.

Had a voice not sharply interrupted my thoughts, I'm unsure how much longer I'd of stood there, subjecting myself to the memories.

"Mom!" I heard Emily calling. She couldn't have been further away than the living room, but her voice seemed distant until I'd successfully channeled my train of thought. "We're gonna be late," she announced, nearly running into me as I rushed out of the bathroom. Her words had hardly sunken in before Charlie came striding out of his room in the traditional teen fashion, save for a forlorn expression and inner preparation for what most teens never have to do. I glanced from him to Emily, who was staring worriedly at me, anything but blind to my nervous state of mind.

"You guys sure you want to do this?" I asked, reaching down to straighten Charlie's tie. They both gave me a steely, cognizant stare of assurance – hardly a ghost of their long-dead young, carefree faces. I had little time to further question them before my cell phone began a melodic, impatient ring. The sudden sound sent me searching furiously for it inside my coat. Sully crackled on the other end, a combination of his already-haggard voice and a tone laden with burden and very little hope.

"Where are you guys?" he demanded.

"We're on our way," I assured, grabbing Bosco's keys and ushering the kids out the door. "We'll be there in twenty."

He was silent for a moment, only the sound of his impatient breathing audible. "I hope you know what the hell you're gonna say up there, Faith. I hope you got a damn good plan."

Click.

---------------------------------------------- \\

Harried, I flip my phone closed without saying goodbye, and ran a shaky hand through my hair. I handed the cabbie a wad of money before making my way up the steps toward Ty, whom I'd spotted just seconds earlier as I pulled up.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice nervous and breathless. "Where's Faith?" A touch of concern seemed to take over his tone as he looked at his watch.

"On her way," I told him, staring out at the street, hoping she might pull up on cue. No such luck.

Ty nodded. "We should go up now, huh?" He stared up at the tinted doors, the breeze flipping his tie around - only because it had been put on so messily. I imagined he hadn't been to see his mom, or she'd have insisted on fixing it. I almost laughed.

I mirrored his nod. "Yeah," I croaked, but he'd already pulled open the door and slipped in. I shook my head at the building before rushing in after my partner.

----------------------------------------------------- \\

I nearly dove from the driver's seat after swerving recklessly to the corner.

"Mom, you can't park here!" Emily squealed incredulously, motioning to the sign reading FIRE LANE. Of course I couldn't. Flustered, I raised my fingers to my temples, hoping to tame some of the pounding in my head. I wasn't successful.

"Okay, look," I instructed, emerging the rest of way from the car. "Emily, you find a place to park the car. Charlie, you come with me. Now!" I watched Charlie shoot his sister a wild glance, probably having something to do with the fact that their mom had gone insane. He clambered over the seats while Emily slammed the passenger door and rushed to the driver's side. I couldn't help but think Bosco wouldn't have approved of the way we'd treated his car since we left the apartment.

With Charlie somewhere in tow, I started across the street, whirling around half-way to shout at Emily. "Second floor!" She nodded in acknowledgment. I stopped suddenly at the pit of the stairs, gazing up at the words carved meticulously in the building's stone.

THE TRUE ADMINISTRATION OF JUSTICE IS THE HIGHEST PILLAR OF GOOD GOVERNMENT

I scoffed quietly at the phrase I'd seen so many times before, yet rarely saw executed. Shaking it off, I took a deep breath and began taking the steps two…three…four at time until we reached the top, greeted by a wide pane of tinted class, spotted here and there with doors of the same shade. NEW YORK SUPREME COURT it read. In other words, you walk out having gained or lost something.

Or in my case, someone.

\\


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: The song lyrics used in this chapter are "Lonely and Gone" by Montgomery Gentry.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_Pulled in the driveway, picked up the paper  
Found my key, and unlocked the door  
I walked in, felt like a stranger  
Like I'd never, been there before  
And as I wandered room to room  
It was silent as a tomb_**

June 27, 2005

"Where the hell have you been?" I croaked, struggling hurriedly to my feet from the bench. Ty looked at me before following my gaze to the stairwell. Faith was rushing up, looking frazzled and panicked; Charlie was only steps behind her, his eyes ablaze with confusion. He shook his head at his mother.

"Where's Emily?" She asked, nearly yelling, and completely avoiding my question. Her frantic eyes scanned the long corridor for signs of her daughter before focusing her attention back on Davis and me.

"I'm right here," a young voice interrupted. Emily was trotting up the same stairwell, looking just as stressed as Faith, if that were at all possible. "Are all the elevators under maintenance?"

"Of course they are," Ty cut in, scoffing. "Right when everyone needs them."

The situation frustrated me. Here they were, not even together – getting themselves separated at such a crucial time – and discussing the malfunctions of a hundred-year old court building's elevators, when we had just minutes until we were supposed to take the stand of what was the most important trial of our entire lives.

"I parked as close as I could," Emily explained, a bit short of breath. "Are we late?"

"Yes, we're late!" I barked, tilting my wrist up so everyone could see my watch. "We have two minutes to find the ADA and get to the courtroom before they decide we failed to appear. You want that? You want Bosco to think we backed out?"

Faith glared at me through eyes laced with red. She never really had gotten over things. In fact, they'd only gotten worse as the months had gone on. I don't think she'd quit crying since the day he was incarcerated. And it was clearly evident through the dark circles around her normally bright green eyes. I immediately felt guilty. "Sully—…"

"Okay, whoa," Ty broke in, before Faith could retaliate. He held up his hands in a typical keep-the-peace Ty fashion. "Why don't…we just go." We all glanced at each other, and I noted that Charlie and Em exchanged frustrated looks. "…Now," He finished, ushering us down the hall. "Let's go."

I gritted my teeth and ran a hand through my thick, albeit salt-and-pepper hair, and lumbered after them. The hall was hardly bright, but I squinted my eyes anyway, feeling a wave of nausea consume me. I couldn't help but be negative. I couldn't help but doubt. I'd seen too many things turn out wrong in my life to have much hope left that they'd ever work out in our favor. What on earth did Faith think we had to say in his favor on the stand? I mean, we knew he was guilty. They all knew that we knew he was guilty. So what could we possibly have to say to evoke enough sympathy from the jury to curb the death penalty? And was that the only possibility? Just trying to get life in prison with no parole? Bosco would rather die than sit on death row for sixty years; so testifying in that effect would be doing him a great disservice.

We weren't just fighting a losing battle — we were fighting one we had already lost.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- //

The courtroom felt cold and unwelcoming as we all shuffled in, taking seats in front of the jury row. I mean, more cold and unwelcoming than usual. The members of the jury trailed in one after another, a couple minutes after me, Sully, Ty, Charlie and Em had taken a seat. Lieu was already there. I glanced over at the prosecution's side of the room. There, in the pew-like benches sat Roy Lane, the FBI son of a bitch that wheedled the truth out of Cruz, and his sneering partner. Both sat, in perfect posture, their freshly pressed shiny suits reflecting the courtroom light.

All the jurors looked emotionless. I guess when don't have an attachment to the case… Whatever. I shook my head, frustrated that my obnoxiously long hair kept falling into my eyes. I glanced over at Em and Charlie. Emily seemed to look up at me at the same time. Her face seemed to display varied emotions. I wished more than ever I could read my daughter's expression, but I was having little luck. Charlie sat to her right, staring down at his hands and fidgeting. Even after the ADA informed us he wouldn't have to testify, he still emanated anxiety. He adjusted his position in the seat, looked over his shoulder, sighed and coughed. I started to question whether or not I should have even brought him.

I stared sympathetically at my son for a couple more minutes. No one moved. Few people even spoke. I could hear Lane and his sidekick whispering something to the other; a couple jurors cleared their throats. A bailiff stood guard by the door, looking poised and statue-like. The door suddenly whisked open, sounding heavy on its hinges. I was quick to recognize the prosecutor, James Lin. I wasn't sure why his name rung a small bell in the depths of my brain, but I did my best to ignore it. He wasn't big, by any means, tall and sort of thin with light brown hair, but his weighted shoes echoed in the only slightly-populated room. He looked straight ahead, making his way to the table where he slapped a fat briefcase down and pulled in his chair. I shifted my eyes down to my feet, and to my left, where Sully sat adjusting the collar on his uniform. None of us really looked at our blues positively. After all, we only wore them to court cases and funerals. I leaned close to his ear.

"Where's Rose?" I whispered. I felt my voice shake. I'd forgotten how difficult it would be for her to walk through those doors.

Sully didn't have a chance to reply when the door opened again and we all craned our necks around to see an older woman with brownish-grey hair making her way down the aisle. She slipped into a seat a couple rows behind Lane, on the prosecution side. She was followed by a younger woman, clutching the hand of a young boy. Walker's ex-wife, I assumed, and her six-year-old son. I felt a shiver run of my spine, even through my uniform and coat, when he turned around and looked at me. His eyes were brown. His hair was brown. Everything reminded me of _him_. All of his features. He was a spitting image of his father. I shivered again, quickly turning away. As I did, I caught a steely glare from Walker's mother as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. I was thankful that Rose burst in just seconds later, so I could stop watching the family as they sat trying to evoke some sort of guilt from me. I didn't want anyone to know it was working.

Rose hurried toward our row, unsuccessful at containing her sobs. They were heartbreaking and could be heard over all the quiet whispers. Lieu, Sully, and Ty all slid down a seat to the left so she could sit next to me. She looked tired. Exhausted, even. Her eyes were bloodshot. It looked like she'd been neglecting her hair that she almost consistently kept a radiant auburn. I couldn't see her lasting through the entire trial. I couldn't see her able to stay just through today. I couldn't see _myself_ doing that. My legs had been shaking ever so slightly since we all came in, and all they seemed to be saying to me was _Run…run…_. I had to use every bit of resolve I could muster just to keep from complying.

I did my best to comfort Rose, but honestly, it was the blind leading the blind. I turned to see Lieu whispering something to Ty, who looked incredibly wistful. Twenty-minutes had passed since we'd all filed in, and the rest of the juror seats had filled. Cruz walked in, looking just as skinny and haughty as usual. She took a seat by herself as far away from Lane and Walker's family as she could get. All of them watched her every move. Walker's mother and ex-wife were probably wondering exactly why this accomplice was sitting on their "side". Cruz kept her head down mostly, avoiding me and everyone else at all costs. She seemed nervous. Really, really nervous. I thought I'd be glad, that she might mess up on the stand. Incriminate herself or something. But I was indifferent, really. I was numb. I didn't know what to feel anymore. Or what to think; or believe.

Our ADA pranced in delicately just moments later. She looked intimidating, Virginia Dell, with her dark black hair both back in a bun so tight it stretched her young features back. She was roughly thirty, and actually extremely nice as I'd found nearly four months earlier when I first learned who'd been representing Bosco. You'd never guess it by the way she seemed to sneer involuntarily. She mimicked Lin's prior actions, sitting at her table and shuffling papers.

_Where's Bosco?_

It was all I could think about. I didn't know what was taking so long. Even if I knew, I didn't care. I wanted things to get started. I wanted things to be over with. I wanted him to come in so that I had to face him – so that I had to look him in the eye, and then get over it.

But it wasn't going to be that easy. Nothing ever was.

----------------------------------------------------------------- //

I was uncomfortable in my seat. I shifted my weight. My uniform was too small, and I tugged on the chest of it trying to loosen up some room to breathe.

_Let's start already…_

I silently willed the judge to come in and get things going. The longer we had to sit here, anticipating, the harder it was gonna be on us all. But I knew, as always, _Your Honor_ was gonna take his sweet fucking time.

_Time_, I thought, not realizing right away that I'd mumbled it aloud.

Time that we didn't have.

Time that _Bosco_ didn't have.

And as that time passed, I watched the seats behind us fill up with almost the rest of the 55th. Grace, Kim and Finney. Monroe came slinking in after, locking eyes with Davis who simply glared at her. Nothing between them had really gotten much better since he found out she was working inside. None of us were really on friendly terms with her. Still, she found it in her rat heart to come and at least watch Bosco get screwed over by the system.

A tiny little woman, probably in her late forties, perched in front of the glorified typewriter, prepared to record all of our dialogue onto paper that would service the media with a few taken-out-of-context quotes, and then resign to live and yellow in an abandoned file cabinet. A couple more bailiffs wandered in as the courtroom filled. The more people, the more danger. Something we'd all learned during our careers.

When the judge finally came in, I felt as if I'd turned another year older. The delay was killing me. I could tell it was taking its toll on everyone else, too. I heard Rose crying quietly, eerily in sync with the sobbing of Walker's mother in the adjacent row of seats. She was mumbling something to Faith about how Anthony wouldn't come. Why she wanted him to, I had no idea. And if he were to show, who's to say he'd be on our side, anyway? The guy was a jerk as far as I was concerned.

I was watching the Walkers when I heard it. I thought I had been prepared, but I was wrong. Because when I finally heard it, I froze. I kept my eyes locked on the Walker family, even though my eyes were blurred. I only stared at them because it was easier than looking away. At him.

The court room grew silent. The whispers died down. Virginia and Lin stood up. Judge Harrison sat down. And everyone slowly swiveled in their chairs to get a clear view behind us. And where that noise was coming from. That ominous sound of feet chafing the floor, metal clinking together. A lot of it. I knew a single pair of handcuffs wouldn't have reverberated off the high ceiling like this sound did. No. The only thing I knew that could cause such a sound was chains.

Heavy chains.

**_Could've heard a tear drop, could've heard a heart break  
Never saw the flood come, even though I felt the rain  
Never heard a house sound, so loud with memories  
Where there used to be a happy home  
In the house on the corner of the lonely and gone_**

---------------------------------------------------- //

All I heard was….nothing. Pure silence, actually. The room was stiller than it had been when we first walked in and were virtually the one ones there. I'd never been so nervous before. I'd been in court before, but never for anything so critical. I'd never had someone's life depend on my testimony. Let alone someone I loved.

Then I heard it. The door first, then the scraping. Like feet dragging. Then some kind of clanging; metal against metal I presumed. Had I given myself a second, I'd have realized what it was. But it was so instinctual to look behind me, that I didn't. Not until I saw him.

_Bosco._

At least, I was pretty sure he was the one in the orange jumpsuit and chains. It looked almost unrealistic. Like something I'd seen on television, or something. Maybe my vision was just clouded. Maybe I only expected to see a monster in hand and feet cuffs and prison apparel. And I didn't care about what I knew, or the things no one had told me about the case, or what other people said. Bosco wasn't a monster to me. He never would be.

The scuffing of his feet kept on in cadence as he continued down toward his attorney. Two cops were escorting him, and they kept chary eyes on everyone. I couldn't tell what they were more worried of: some vengeful family member attacking him, or him attacking the rest of us. Clearly the former was more likely. The people sitting on the opposite side of us were burning into him with their eyes. My mom had told me they were Walker's family. I didn't know much more about the incident than that Bosco had been framed for this cop's murder. Neither did Charlie.

_Charlie._

I'd been so caught up in what seeing Bosco meant to me that I'd forgotten about my brother, who was sitting on the aisle seat to the right of me. If I had seen his terrified face and wide eyes when he saw Bosco from a distance, I never would have let myself mumble Bosco's name. It was just a reflex. But it was all Charlie needed to go over the edge.

See, Bosco didn't look like he did the last time we'd seen him. We got to visit him now and then, but our last trip to Five Points was almost two months ago. And behind fingerprint-smeared plexiglass, his appearance was never exactly evident. But here, in person, his figured looked terribly emaciated. I mean, it evoked adjectives that most high school seniors forget about after the first vocab test. His shoulders slouched; his head was down – depressingly uncharacteristic of him. And when I said his name, he heard me. I didn't intend for him to, but he turned and looked in our direction. His gaze automatically fell on my mom, first. He turned his neck more as the cops ushered him to the table. He finally glanced at me. And then Charlie. His eyes looked sunken – even from where we were sitting, a couple dozen feet away, we could see that his gaunt face was skeletal-like and sickly pale, save for the inflamed part of his forehead where a trail of haphazardly applied stitches laid. And the familiar scar above his right cheekbone hadn't gotten any less visible. But the worst thing about the way he looked at us wasn't necessarily his appearance – but that he even though he looked at us, he didn't seem to really _see us_.

I swallowed hard.

_Don't cry._

Mom was crying. His mother was crying. Walker's mother was crying. Walker's son was crying. Everyone was crying. I turned to Charlie but he had leapt from his seat and run toward the exit. Few people took their eyes off of Bosco to watch Charlie leave, but I glanced around quickly and then followed my brother out.

**_If she talked about leavin', I wasn't listenin'  
If she showed me a sign, well I never saw  
Did she stop believin', did I stop givin'  
Can't put my finger on what went wrong  
Now the quietest noise I'm told  
Is the sound of letting go_**

---------------------------------------------------------- //

I didn't like walking in. There were so many eyes on me; I could feel them all burning through me like a lit match to wet paper. So many pairs of eyes that I felt like they could read me. And I didn't want anyone to read me. I kept my head down, most of the way, so I didn't have to look at anyone. I didn't want Ma to see me; or Faith. I didn't want to face the Walker family.

I had regrets. But they weren't the obvious regrets. I just didn't want to deal with the family. Maybe that was harsh. Maybe I did belong in the chains.

Someone mumbled my name as I was halfway to the defense table. Virginia was there, waiting. Sully and Ty had found her. Apparently she was supposed to be really good – one of the best. Honestly, though, she didn't look old enough to have had a lot of experience with high profile cases. It didn't matter though. At that point, I didn't think the best lawyer in the world could get me out of the shit I was in.

I turned toward the familiar voice that called my name. It was almost too quiet, but I made it out. Slowly I turned to face it. My eyes first fell on Faith, her eyes dry and crimson from crying. She looked at me blankly before leaning over to comfort Ma who was crying. It killed me to see them like that. The jagoffs leading me didn't give me much time to keep looking in their direction. I quickly shifted my eyes to Emily, who I realized had said my name. She had almost a frightened look on her face – like she didn't recognize me. I was hardly able to steal a glance at Charlie before he took off through the door. Emily looked at me wistfully and then followed him. I felt my chest constrict.

I had never intended to get anyone wrapped up in such a disaster.

Especially not Em and Charlie.

Before being shoved to front of the table, I trailed my eyes across the back rows. I looked at Sully. Ty. Finney. Lieu. Grace. Kim. Even The Rat had showed up in my favor. I looked one more time at these people – some I'd known only for a year, others for over a decade – the same people who had volunteered to commit perjury on my behalf.

-------------------------------------------------------- //

Judge Harrison looked near ready to begin. He seemed to be scanning the court room for missing links. As if on cue, a young man came through the door. He walked swiftly down the aisle, locking his eyes on Bosco from the distance. He looked familiar. He looked like…Walker. A lot like him, actually. I turn to Sully, baffled.

"Sul…who—..." I trailed off, studying the person. He never did take his eyes off Bosco, who was standing at the defense table, his back toward us, head hung. He was still. He didn't know how intently this person was watching him, how completely focused this person was on him.

"Let it be, Ty," Sully advised, his voice a low and direct. I hated when he did that. He sounded like my father.

"Yeah, but…"

"His brother," Sul finally gave in. He didn't face me. He just stared straight ahead, arms crossed over his blues and badge, expression incredibly sullen. "Walker's brother. Michael. Don't let the name get to you. It's common."

I felt my jaw slack a little at the irony.

And there was something about this Michael's imperious glare that really irked me. I mean, it bothered me beyond the icy looks Walker's mother and ex-wife had already given Bosco and the rest of us. It was unrelenting. It was…deadly.

--------------------------------------------------------- //

Michael seemed to be taking his time walking toward his mother, nephew and ex-sister-in-law. It almost seemed like he'd time it perfectly. By the time he took a seat next to his mother, Bosco had glanced back in that direction, thus catching his eye for a fleeting moment. It was a strange look that they shared; creepily akin to that of two dogs staring each other down. I was waiting for one of them to snap.

They didn't, thank God, breaking their noxious gaze only when Judge Harrison called the court to order. Those of us not standing, did, and then obediently sat back down.

It bothered me that Bosco had known about Walker's brother, but still appeared that he'd seen a ghost of some sort when he turned around. His eyes widened. Even from where I was sitting I could see him swallow hard.

Michael was sitting now, but he never once took his eyes off Bosco, who was staring tentatively ahead. All I could see was his back – a faded orange target with the number "043" virtually branded on the back of it in digital like font. It was couldn't have looked more wrong on Boz – more out of place. I'd seen him in it nearly every day for the past four months, and I was no more used to it than the first time I'd seen him dressed in prison garb. Through the thin jumpsuit, his shoulders looked painfully pronounced. I'd noticed his emaciated figure immediately – it certainly didn't go unseen. But I wasn't as shocked as everyone else had been. I'd been watching my partner's physical and mental stay rapidly decline for a hundred and twenty-two days.

Em and Charlie had taken it hard. I wanted so much to run after him when he'd bolted at the sight of his 'Uncle B' looking so drawn and lethargic, but Emily jumped at that opportunity. I scolded myself inwardly for forgetting that Charlie hadn't been there each day to see Bosco's ever-worsening condition. For bringing Charlie and not warning him. And when Emily went after him, I got the feeling she was thankful for his interruption. If she'd stayed any longer she might have joined Rose and I in our pathetic and painfully repressed sobs.

It was clear prison didn't agree with him. Or vice versa. Or a combination of both, I'm sure. Whatever it was exactly – the food, or lack thereof, the unnatural confinement, or the forced-leveling with the scum he'd vowed his entire life to put away – had taken a seemingly irreversible toll on him. Still, he'd insisted every day during visitation that he deserved whatever "time" he received, but first and foremost, knew what he'd done, knew what he was doing at the time, and "wouldn't change a fucking thing". That last part, I'm sure, he'd slightly exaggerated. I mean, everyone would change something. Him especially. He could say he deserved it, he say I was worth it as many times as he wanted, but he was convincing no one, me of all people, that he wanted to stay in prison or that he wouldn't fight – at least a little – for a chance at freedom. Regardless of whether or not he still had his job if or when he did get out.

He'd always have me.

---------------------------------------------------------- //

It was difficult to fathom exactly what was taking place before all of us. How things had never really been right, but had acutely gone down hill in the past year. I'd been "losing" Michael ever since he'd turned to drugs to escape the pain his father caused – or rather, I allowed to cause, as I believed – him and his brother. Finally, I did lose him. Not just to drugs, to murder. And then I sat and watched my oldest son, my only son, breathe through tubes for months on end before just barely making a comeback. And here I was again, preparing to lose him. They'd taken him away from me for four months, but were threatening to take him away for twenty years, sixty years…or forever.

It was something I already couldn't handle. I didn't have anyone to really help me handle it either. Anthony bailed again. Maurice always said I gave him too many chances. Faith was always strong, but as she sat there next to me, she looked just as weak and fragile, if not more so. She'd put on a resilient façade, but it was cracking. Even I – the emotionally unstable mother – could tell when the front was failing.

I heard Maurice mumble something in response to the judge's asking of his plea. I couldn't hear either of them. I strained my ears as Judge Harrison repeated himself.

"How do you plead?"

**_Could've heard a tear drop, could've heard a heart break..._**

--------------------------------------------------- //

The courtroom had remained almost completely silent since Judge Harrison walked in, but if there was any shuffling, whispering or otherwise noise whatsoever, it hushed in an instant the moment he spoke. Everyone's attention darted to the front of the room.

"How do you plead?" Harrison's voice was old and weary, but at the same time, authoritative. Bosco either didn't hear, or just ignored him. The aging judge seemed irritated that had to repeat himself. "How do you plead, Mr. Boscorelli?"

I watched a few of my colleagues cringed at the title. It wasn't _Officer_ Boscorelli, anymore. Faith especially took it hard, chewing her lip and wiping her eye just to keep occupied…to keep distracted.

Davis and I glanced at each other. His eyes were wide and nervous, but I knew my mien was simply one of my rarely-varying petulant frowns – resigned to the outcome I was almost certain Bosco was destined to face.

I was pretty sure I heard Bosco murmur his response, but again Harrison barked for him to speak up. We all awaited his known response so that opening statements could follow suit. If there wasn't the threat of being found in contempt of court, I could have thought of more than a few people who would object to Bosco's upcoming, blatant lie.

_Crap._

"Not guilty, your honor."

**_Could've heard a tear drop, could've heard a heart break  
Never saw the flood come, even though I felt the rain  
Never heard a house sound, so loud with memories  
Where there used to be a happy home  
In the house on the corner of the lonely and gone _**

Oh, I never heard a house sound, so loud with memories  
Where there used to be a happy home  
In the house on the corner, in the house on the corner  
Of the lonely and gone

\\


	12. Chapter 12

**JUNE 27, 2005**

The opening statements seemed to last forever. With every imperious argument of Lin's, and Virginia's fragile rebuttal to the referenced evidence, I felt like heaving up whatever contents were still in my stomach.

Lin was loud and resolute. Confident.

Virginia's voice, on the other hand, crackled with doubt. The simple clicking of her heels on the floor was enough to nearly drown out her voice altogether.

_How did we get such a promising vibe from her?_

I rubbed my eyes, and leaned over, trying to be discreet as I scanned the rows for anyone as restless as me. I think I wanted an accomplice of some sort to accompany me to the bathroom or nearby trash can where I could vomit. But everyone was still. Rigid, like statues. But there was this thick tension that sat on the air above us all, like a congested cloud threatening the release of a cold downpour. None of us could take much more. No one had any reason to think that with a beginning so far from solid, that the case could strengthen anywhere near the degree necessary to get a not guilty verdict.

It just couldn't happen.

I took a deep breath, still leaning over. Sully's eyes were like embers. I could almost feel their heat as he stared at me.

"What?" I gurgled, sucking in yet another breath. I almost felt as if I were controlling the tension-fraught air between us all. We were like several long rows, constructed of one giant rubber band. If Virginia or Lin kept delving into the emotional aspects of the case, all it would take is a cough or a sigh, and that rubber band would snap, sending Bosco's mom into an overtly overdue tantrum. Faith would try to be strong and comfort her, as she always did, but eventually collapse herself. Sully would mumble "crap" almost as much as Bosco used to scream "jagoff", and I would succeed in littering the floor at my feet with bile.

So I had to hold my breath. So I wouldn't snap that invisible link keeping us all from turning into one snaking chain of turmoil and tears.

"I didn't say anything," Sully grumbled, moving his eyes from me to the front of the room.

"You were looking at me," I whispered, from my bent position.

"How do you know," His voice was low and guttural, as usual, and he stated his words rather than asking them.

I wanted to answer. I wanted to say that I could always tell when he was looking at me, but I'd especially become a target for his sight this morning, and that I felt like a child that he was constantly checking on to make sure was okay. I wanted to tell him that, but then, I'd be proving him right. Instead, I lurched forward even more, clutching my stomach.

"I think I'm gonna be sick, Sul," I swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"Hang in there, Ty," he croaked. I felt him glanced down at me again. "One minute at a time…like you used to tell me. Remember?"

"I remember," I whispered back, my brain flooding with two-and-a-half year old images of Sully, drunken and in a downward spiral. And I did remember. Vividly. I snapped from the memories, taking in one last deep breath before forcing myself to sit up straight and keep my composure.

Sully looked like he was scanning his mind for something else supportive to say. Even though his face was sporting a considerably less-interested expression, if anyone knew, I knew, that he wasn't ignoring me or my failing emotional state or my body's unwillingness to hold my breakfast down. He was just being Sully.

A pointy finger jabbed my back just as I settled into my seat. Sasha had leant over my shoulder. I could feel her breath on my neck. I took my eyes off Sully to stare at her. "I imagine there'll be a recess shortly…before direct and cross….examination…" she trailed off, her words increasingly forced and nervous.

I don't know if it was her – her bold way of talking to me when I'd made it crystal clear I didn't want to hear her. Or if it was the picture of Walker that Lin had flashed onto a projector — of the dead cop's virtually non-existent face amidst a myriad of crushed limbs and haunting bruises. Or if it was the entire situation, everything, combined. But whatever it was, it was the final straw.

The bitterness of stomach acid finally invaded my throat without the potential of being held down. I covered my mouth with my hand, lurched from my seat and started out of the courtroom just as I heard Harrison finished the word "recess".

--------------------------------------------------------------- //

"Why'd he do that?" Ty nearly spat, wiping a discolored combination of water and puke from his mouth. He turned to spit into the sink again. I'd had such a plethora of bodily fluids vomited or spilled on me during my career, that I'd lost whatever revulsion I ever had for them, so I just stood with my hands in my pockets and watched.

"Who?" I murmured, shifting my eyes from him to the faucet to the pale green walls of the bathroom. "Lin?"

"Yeah," Ty looked disgusted. I wasn't sure if was because his mouth probably didn't taste so good or because he couldn't get Walker's morgue-shot out of his head. "I didn't know they brought evidence in so fast."

I shrugged. "All depends on the prosecutor's game plan. They can bring it up whenever they want. And that wasn't worst of it, Ty," my voice was full of warning. "Corpus delicti, though, you usually do see that in the opening statement." I shrugged again. I had sort of forgotten that Ty had been to few trials, and never for any even remotely close to the caliber of the one we were in.

He gargled with water one last time before grabbing a paper towel and standing up from his hunched position over the sink. "I don't think I can go back in there, Sul," he squeaked. "Did you see Bosco? He's a skeleton."

"At most," I spoke up, scoffing. "And I don't think anyone missed him. He's like a big orange target in there, for everyone's deathly stares."

Ty shook his head nervously.

"Hey," I laughed sarcastically. "I'm the one who has to testify…the least you can do is be in there…for mutual support!"

His face lightened up a little, but he still looked ill. "Okay. …Are you first?"

"Faith is," I shook my head sadly. "Then someone for the prosecution. Cruz, probably. Then me. I don't really know the order, but eventually one of Walker's family members will get up there and make him sound like a gift to the NYPD."

"So how can we win?"

"Well," I pulled open the door, ushering him out. God knows we'd gravely jeopardize the already volatile case if we were caught discussing it. "It just depends how many jurors buy all that crap."

---------------------------------------------------------- //

I must have stood there for the longest time, gazing out the window of the third story. All I could see was a tiny patch of grass… some tables. Mostly just grey steps leading down to a square cutout in the courthouse and annex building. A bunch of people were walking up and down the steps; flagging down cabs. They were small from where I was, looking down. I knew that they were in a much better place than me. Going about their lives, doing mundane everyday tasks that I longed to be doing. Why did it have to be summer vacation? Even a seven hour school day sounded more bearable.

I knew Emily had come running after me after I'd bolted from the courtroom. Something inside of me just broke…just snapped…when I saw Bosco. Maybe no one expected it because I don't usually say what I'm thinking. Or maybe they just overlooked me because I wasn't voluntarily displaying my emotions in an ever-increasing downpour of tears, like mom had been. I'd just sat there – the room was freezing – the people looked at us like we were monsters. I'd just found out seconds earlier that I didn't have to prevail my fears and testify, but I was still nervous. I still just sat there, taking as much as I could until it was too much, and then I ran out. Honestly, it scared me when I saw him. There was so much that no one told me about the case, but I was expected to sit and understand, regardless. And maybe I could have, but not when my Uncle B came in. I'd never seen a make-up job in a movie make someone look as sick as he had looked. And angry. Which, I think, was the worst part. He'd only looked at me for a second, but it was enough for me to see his eyes were blank, and lingering somewhere in his pupils, was anger. Just pure rage. Maybe part of me was actually giving into this so-called theory of him having killed someone. And it was that which caused me to come seek out the window I'd been standing in front of.

Emily had been trying to get my attention forever. She was comforting at first, but after awhile she just got annoyed with me standing there, so stationary. She yelled at me for "bailing" as she'd called it, said that she was the one who would have to face everyone when she took the stand. I didn't get a chance to tell her how quickly I'd of taken the stand if I'd needed to. That is, after all, what I'd come for. It wasn't my fault that things had played out differently. I was, however, inwardly grateful. If I couldn't stand seeing Bosco from a sideways view for a fleeting second, there was no way I could handle staring straight at him. Besides, I wasn't so sure I'd be a great witness seeing as I was having doubts as to whether I even believed what everyone told me. Maybe Emily didn't think we were being withheld information, or care if we were, but I did. I wasn't looking for a conspiracy, but I'd found one. But no one would believe me, because I was the seventh-grader who couldn't stay in the courtroom for twenty minutes, let alone for opening statements.

I pretended not to notice when she returned, clutching two cans of Coke. If I hadn't wanted to talk to her before, I definitely didn't feel like it now. I did, however, take the drink when she handed it to me, if only because I felt obligated.

"Are you going back in there?" she asked finally, looking at her watch.

_Does it matter?_ I thought. I didn't want Bosco to think I didn't want to be there – or that I didn't want to support him, although I was pretty sure he'd understand. But didn't he have enough people to think about that were sitting several yards behind him, crying and distraught?

"Am I allowed?" I asked, glancing at her for the first time since I'd run, tearful and embarrassed, from the room.

She shrugged, taking a long, shaky sip of her soda. "Who knows. You'll have to ask Mom when she comes out, but I don't think either of us is supposed to be in there after the opening statements unless we're testifying. And even then, we have to leave right after." She shrugged again. It was a common expression of her doubt. I think I'd even inadvertently picked up the trait.

"What are you gonna say up there, anyway?" I figured she had some idea, seeing as though she looked relatively calm. More calm than I was, and I wasn't the one who had to answer questions.

"I guess they'll just ask me…about Bosco…"

"What will you tell them?" I persisted. I didn't really care that I sounded abrupt.

"The truth, Charlie. What else would I tell them?" She slowly raised her hands and put them on her hips, challenging me for an answer.

"I don't know…" I sighed, turning to the window again. I guess she could see the wheels turning in my head.

"What," she spat, moving in front of me, one hand firmly planted on each of her sides. "You think he did it? You really think he killed that cop?"

"I never said that," I defended softly. In all honesty, I wasn't sure what I thought, anymore. I never thought my parents would divorce, though I knew it'd been for the better, but that had happened. Who's not to say this couldn't have happened either?

"But that's what you _think_, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Emily!" I finally shrieked, backing away from her. I glanced around the hallway, thankful it was lacking other people. "If it's easier for you to tell yourself that so many people messed up and locked up someone innocent, fine. If that's easier, fine, but _don't_ pretend nothing could've made him do it. _Don't_ pretend that they're telling us everything."

Emily stood, her back to the window, and moved her arms from her hips and folded them over her chest. "What would make him?"

"What?"

"What would make him," she repeated slowly, looking down at her heels. "You think something could've made him do this. So...what?"

Now _I_ was shrugging. "Maybe something happened to Mom."

She snapped her head up. "What?"

"I don't know what, Emily!" I threw my hands up in despair. "What else would make him? I don't think _anything_ else could." I was running out of ways to get through to her. I wasn't really sure I needed to keep trying – as far as I knew, she was just trying to tune out the fact that we were still in the dark. But I still felt a compulsion to tell her that regardless of whether or not I thought Bosco did kill this cop, there was a reason for it. Bosco wasn't supposed to be in jail. He wasn't supposed to be a _killer._

Emily stood there for another minute or two, periodically glancing at me through watery eyes, before nearly tripping in her heels as she rushed passed me. "Excuse me," she snapped, sniffling. "I have to go… _testify_."

I moved back to my unyielding position in front of window, but not before powerfully heaving the still-full and unopened can of Coke into a nearby trash can with all of my strength.

--------------------------------------------------- //

I kept my eyes firmly planted on Ty as we entered the courtroom. I guess I wanted to make sure he wasn't going to puke again. He seemed relatively better, so I let myself look around. The place was bustling quietly with people as they reconvened. It was weird to see this room, normally so dead-silent and still, actually crawling and sounding with people.

Ty and I stumbled toward our original seats, or at least the general area. The room was huge, as were the benches, so neither of us could be too sure. Ty glanced at me a few times, his eyes glazed and ill-looking. Fortunately, some of the color in his face had returned. He finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"Who did you say was next?" He turned to me, and then away, scanning the seats behind us. Nearly everyone we knew had already filed in. Lieu and Finney sat close by, joined by Kim, and finally Monroe, who Ty refused to give up an opportunity to glare at. She was quick to return the cold stare, and I rolled my eyes. Amidst something so important, the two still had time to play this childish game of who-could-hold-a-grudge-longest. I wanted to kick Ty, but I stopped myself in fear of him throwing up all over the place.

"Faith," I growled, sighing. It didn't sit well with me that she was supposed to relive what had happened to her. The defense was trying to prove that Bosco hadn't committed the crime to begin with, not justifying what he had done, so I was at a loss as to how her painful story was relevant. "She goes next."

I could tell Ty was about to ask me where she was, but our answer was already in the making.

"We're not discussing the fucking case!" the familiar voice was raised and high-pitched. It was loud, but irresolute. Her words shook with trepidation, and any sound of whispering or footsteps ceased, returning the room back to a state of complete silence. Virtually everyone had craned around to see Faith at the back of the courtroom, staring impatiently at a bailiff whom I presumed had interrupted her talking with Rose – Rose, who upon the explosive shriek had hurried out the door.

The bailiff was saying something quietly to Faith, who looked all kinds of pissed, but Ty and I weren't close enough to hear. By his lips, I'd have guessed it was something along the lines of "Ma'am, if you…"

"Go. To. Hell," were Faith's preceding words, growing louder and more impatient, and followed by the notorious sound of…chains. Heavy chains.

Once again, silence reigned. Faith even stopped wishing hell upon the bailiff long enough to watch Bosco enter, guarded as usual by two staid, robotic-looking uniforms. If it were at all possible, he looked even worse than he had before the recess. He was still a sickly off-white color, his jaws sharply protruding due to his sunken face. His skin was contrasted by the faded, oversized orange jumpsuit that he appeared to be drowning in.

Even the tacit-impartial jurors were staring at him with pity. I assumed only his colleagues and friends knew what used to be behind the washed-out shell that Bosco had become.

I watched him scan the room, his eyes like depressed coals rather than the cobalt beacons they used to be. But it was remotely comforting to see him looking elsewhere than only straight ahead as he'd been doing before, like some post-op lobotomy patient.

His eyes traveled slowly around the courtroom, to the judge's empty chair, to Walker's family who appeared to be trying to set him ablaze with their stony glares, and to me and Davis and the gap of space beside us. His eyes narrowed in concern, and for the first time, he said something.

So he only mouthed it. But it was a step forward, anyway.

"Where's Ma?" we watched his lips forming the words and we both shook our heads sadly. I think I caught Ty as he finished mumbling "She left", and I wasn't sure if it was for the better. I mean, we couldn't do a whole lot of explaining from where we sat. Especially when Bosco's guards were following his every gaze with suspicion as if they thought we were talking in some sort of code.

Bosco looked unsatisfied with our answer, but I'd figured as much. He moved forward slowly at the chagrin of his watchdogs that appeared prepared to tackle him, or shoot him, should he make any attempts to escape, or lash out. He was that dangerous, after all.

Both me and Ty knew exactly who he was scanning the room for, and it only took him seconds to spot her near the back door before their eyes locked. They held a wistful gaze for what seemed like forever. They'd shared a good amount of sad gazes, but we'd never seen one this hopeless, or this dejected.

Bosco formed the name "Faith," ever so slowly, and she did the same with his name, only she actually said it. And loud, too, before brushing past the disgruntled bailiff who reached out to stop her.

"Let me go!" she shrieked, battling his arms with hers. He was considerably taller and stronger, but she fought him nonetheless, a fountain of tears scathing her already-reddened face. So many tears, that Davis and I could see even from our seats.

"Sully…" Ty tried to alert me, nudging my shoulder. He was looking in the opposite direction, at the back door where Bosco had entered.

"Wait, Ty," I ordered, still dividing my attention between Faith, and then Bosco. Faith was still struggling against him as he tried to keep her from racing toward 'the defendant'. I hadn't realized how much that term had bothered me, but it was hollow and cold, and it should never have been a title used for Bosco.

"Let. Go. You son of a bitch!" Faith continued, determined to reach her partner.

The room was now at a full-fledged whisper war. Amongst Faith's inconsolable screams were the quiet, yet strained words of everyone else – mostly Walker's family, who were having their own argument. I wasn't entirely familiar with my distant, deceased "friend"'s family, but I guessed his mother and ex-wife were the ones who had stood up and were angrily motioning toward Bosco.

Their gestures must not have caught Bosco's attention, because he was still staring at Faith who had succumbed to the grip of the officer and had now buried her face into her hands.

"Faith…don't…" Bosco started, seemingly alarmed by his own voice. It was the first time any of us had heard him speak the whole day. His face was twisted in anguish, and his voice sounded foreign. He tried to pull his hands to his face, only to be stopped suddenly, and sharply, by the chains that held his hands below his waist, and gave little slack to move them.

"Sully, I really think you…" Ty was still tapping my shoulder, more impatiently than ever and his tone that of warning. I watched Kim glance around before rushing to Faith's side, before I turned around, and mirrored Ty's shocked stare.

"Michael…" I mumbled slowly as the realization that Walker's brother had just entered, and done so in a style far from peaceful. The door was still swinging wildly in his wake as he approached Bosco from behind.

"What?" Ty questioned.

I had little time to answer, before Michael's anger-fraught announcement shook the courtroom back to its original state of silence yet again.

"Murderer!"

_Things are going well,_ I thought bitterly. I leaned close to Ty. "Walker's older brother, Michael."

"I know _that_!" Ty hissed. "He was in here earlier staring at Bosco like he was gonna kill him. What the hell is he doing?"

I was too glued to Michael's actions to answer my partner. But the truth was, I had no idea what he was doing, aside from confronting the person who had killed his brother. In a way, he wasn't at fault. From the twisted version of a brother that Matthew Walker had portrayed to his family, and the distorted version of a cop he'd shown the community – Michael was only seeking revenge against a murderer. Still, I knew Ty was probably sharing my urge to shout out "rapist" but we both knew it probably wouldn't go over so well. We gritted our teeth, instead.

The creaking of a door cause a few of us to dart a fleeting a second of attention to the front as Judge Harrison crept in; unaware of the turmoil the room had found itself in. It was a short-lived redirecting of our sights before Michael's voice echoed again.

I couldn't imagine how powerless Bosco felt, entrapped in a coil of weighted chains, unable to defend himself. I didn't doubt he had somewhat become resigned to the fact, but never would he be content with such a reality.

Michael advanced forward, causing the uniforms to get between the two men. Bosco was staring down the spitting-image of the man he'd killed, despite his lack of mobility due to the chains, his eyes dark, beady and unrelenting. He looked uneasy, but far from afraid.

Two more bailiffs rushed in, each roughly taking Michael by the arm and impeding his attempts at revenge, at least for the moment.

_"You will pay for this!"_ Michael's overwrought shouts didn't stop as he was dragged down the aisle and out the courtroom. I watched his eyes shift away from Bosco for the first time, traveling very slowly across toward the other aisle where Faith crouched, leaning against Kim for support. He held his stare for a few seconds, I suppose long enough to make it obvious to Bosco just who he was looking at. He shifted his brown eyes back to Bosco, sneering. _"That's a promise you son of a bitch!"_

The door eventually swung shut, drowning out his ensuing barrage of threats and expletives. I looked at Ty, who appeared less likely to vomit, and now, more on the verge of passing out. He was eyeing Bosco, who was being shuffled, virtually backward, toward the defendant's table.

He gave Davis and me a fleeting glimpse before looking past us, at Faith, and swallowing hard.

\\


	13. Chapter 13

Author Notes: I'm filling in some of that four-month period of incarceration that I skipped. Here goes...

------------------

Judge Harrison had promptly ordered a recess after the bailiffs finally succeeded in dragging Walker's brother out. We hadn't even had a chance to reconvene since he'd exploded in a slew of threats and obscenities. I didn't like the reason we had a recess, but I was grateful for one nonetheless. I rushed off to the bathroom to collect myself, praying no one would follow me.

I collapsed against the cold porcelain, turned on the faucet, and splashed my face with water. It was red and hot from crying and the cold water helped. It made me more presentable, anyway, but the water couldn't wash away all of my inner turmoil. It had all just been too much. I hadn't exactly been doing great the past five months, but I'd managed to keep myself together at least when I was around others.

But it had been too much. Too long, actually.

Too long since I'd seen him. I had thought I was prepared when he walked in the courtroom for the second time. But he'd gone downhill more, it seemed, in the shorter period of time I hadn't seen him, than in the months I'd done so faithfully.

There were the chains, which were ridiculously unnecessary and everyone on the defense side knew it. Then there was the jumpsuit, which made him look guilty, or dangerous, or something. I could tell it impacted what the jurors thought, and not in a good way.

I turned off the faucet and stood up, letting beads of water drip from my face and hands as I stared the tile. I waited until they formed intricate little rivers between the tile lines before I grabbed a few paper towels, still trying to recover. I had lost it when he said my name. Maybe because it was the first thing he had said the entire day, and the first thing_ I_ had heard him say in a month.

I backed against a stall door, glancing quickly at my watch. I couldn't help but think of that month without him, back to my last visit…

It had been the last time I got to see him before the trial. I hadn't known that stepping in to Five Points Correctional Facility that day. My expression had been numb as I went through the inadequate process of abandoning my weapon at the counter and being searched. The guards were just as emotionless. And I remember the corruption at Five Points – it was potent; so strong that a civilian could have smelled it.

The trial was a nearly a month off, and I'd had every intention of going every Saturday – the only visitation day – just as I had been doing for the past three-and-something months. I was going to show up, just like every past weekend, on time, and stay until I was literally escorted out.

That had been my plan, anyway.

-----------------------------------------------

May 22nd, 2005_ - _Romulus, New York

**One month, five days before trial**

_I entered the room, the door clicking shut and locking behind me. It looked just as it had looked the week before, and the week before that, and before that: off-white walls, exposed piping, rusted air grates in the ceiling. It was empty-looking, probably because no walls divided it – it was just a big square. There were dozens of bench-like tables scattered across the floor, some held in place with rusty bolts. In a few scarce places was a patch of fresh paint and plaster, probably concealing some kind of fist-induced holes in the wall. I hadn't expected Five Points to have changed, but the blankness and the hopelessness I felt when I stepped in was something I couldn't quite shake, and never got used to._

_I found my way slowly over to the table in the corner – our table. I would always sit facing the front, so I could see when they brought him out, but then we'd trade places, because I knew he hated sitting with his back toward people. So I felt vulnerable in that position too, but not so much when I knew he could see over my shoulder._

_The room was always busy. Sometimes even crowded. It always seemed like there was ample opportunity for riots and fights, but I had never seen one go down. Bosco had told me the prisoners put on a pretty good show for their families, and their kids, and that's probably why it usually remained civil. Today was no different; almost all of the benches were occupied. Some of the visitors were arguing in hushed voices, others whispering, to the person adjacent to them. Others were just crying silently. A few COs lingered near the entrances, and others behind the distant Plexiglas where they searched the prisoners before bringing them out. Most of the uniforms that I could see looked disinterested and off-guard. It never bothered me as much as it probably should have. _

_I was staring intently at a family not far away – a woman, her kids, and the inmate, who I presumed was her husband – when I heard feet scuffing lethargically in my direction. It was a familiar cadence of two sneakers, one after another, with hardly any effort put into lifting them off the ground. I quickly broke my gaze on the family, got up and changed seats. _

_And just as I'd lifted my eyes to meet his, he'd slid into the seat in front of me and I had to lower them. He was in orange, as usual, but his hands were free. I never was stable enough to visit him when he was at Malone, but Sully had said it was pretty rough seeing him cuffed, so I was thankful the visits at Five Points weren't as strict. There was no glass between us and no phone we had to speak through. I was as close to freedom as we were going to get at the time._

"_Hey," was all I said, softly, having hoped he'd have spoken first. I never knew exactly what to say, and having been coming for months didn't change this. I was only grateful we had some kind of silent understanding, and we didn't need to awkwardly break the silence. But it was winding down to trial time, and I'd be lying if I said things weren't increasingly tense._

_In the beginning, the visits were the most painful, probably because I spent our hour apologizing and he tried to reassure me it wasn't my fault, and other shit about how I couldn't have avoided 'it' that I didn't buy. Some days we argued. I couldn't really remember what started it, but it was always about what happened, or what would happen to him. Eventually we realized that if we kept our visits hostile, he'd never leave not-angry, and I'd never leave not-in tears. So we stopped talking about what happened in February. It was hard, but we did it. Finally, each Saturday we'd talk about everything else but. It was hard, trying to tell him everything I wanted to say in one hour a week, when I used to have twelve or more hours a day to do so. _

_He asked about the kids a lot, and I took them a long a few times. It was hard for both of them to see him that way, but they wouldn't admit it. Finally I told them some lie about there being a limited visitor list and that they couldn't come for awhile anymore. Emily never bought it, but she didn't protest, either. _

_He'd asked about work, and at first, not wanting to break him down with more depressing news, I'd just nod and say it was fine. He'd look at me, knowing I was lying, and I finally told him how much I hated it. How I hated being a Detective. That it just wasn't me. That Jelly and I got along but our styles collided. That I worked more hours and did more paper work than when I was on the beat and it wasn't even worth the OT. _

_We were pretty good at avoiding the topic of the trial, too, for awhile. But now it was only four weeks out and we needed to talk about it. We needed to face it._

"_Hey," he responded, just as quietly. His voice was raspy. I imagined he probably hadn't used it for awhile. We were both quiet for a long time. He stared at his hands before continuing. "Good to be out…here." _

"_Yeah?"_

_He nodded quickly, looking up. "Was…a…uh…riot. Not really a riot," he shook his head and tilted his hand in a kind-of-sort-of fashion. "Anyway. They had us on lockdown until this morning."_

_I nodded slowly, watching his eyes drift from mine and then switch wildly from the people a few yards a way, to the ceiling and back to me. It was a ritual. We talked, but we always knew there was a deeper issue at hand. We just dodged it. _

"_Met with Virginia on Thursday," he said, after I didn't comment on the lockdown bit. "She's…uh…"_

"_What?" I pried, disturbed by how frantically his eyes were scanning the room, my face, his hands…whatever was in front of him. He cracked his knuckles several times, almost in repressed panic. I hadn't heard much about the young DA, other that she was, well, green. _

"_She's a freak," he finished flatly. I would have laughed, but I saw how serious he was. "She wants me to plead…to plead…" _

"_Plead what?" _

"_Nevermind," he shook his head and looked away. "I don't wanna talk about it anyway."_

"_Bosco, tell me," I curled my leg underneath me so I was higher and could lean across the table a little. _

"_No." he said, sharply, turning to give me a long, steely glare. I back up, throwing my hands up and then folding my arms. _

"_Fine. But Sully and Ty know her," I reminded, trying to reassure. "I'm sure she knows what she's doing."_

_He just scoffed and shook his head. "How's um…what's his name…"_

_I peered at him while he struggled remember. _

_He jabbed his pointer into his temple. "Damnit, I don't remember. That Lieutenant…"_

"_Miller?" I asked suddenly, laughing. His question was weird. Miller had never been a part of the equation. Bosco especially never show an interest in knowing how he was._

"_Yeah," he replied. "I guess. He was with you when…"_

_There went our silent oath not to bring up February. _

"_Yeah," I sighed. "Why?"_

_He didn't answer me, but I heard him mumble. "Helluva lot of good he did."_

"_Bosco, I don't think anyone could've really prevented…" I squinted, my tone almost defensive. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to talk about that day, or what happened, or where John was when it all when down and whether or not he could or couldn't have helped._

"_I could have! I could have prevented it!" he shouted. I flinched, then glanced around to see if we'd gained the attention of a CO. One of them raised their eyebrow in warning, but didn't intervene._

_Bosco ran a hand over his mouth and eyes, and finally his neck, like he didn't know what to do with himself. He looked down at the table, tapping his fingers._

"_I'd always thought you'd been with Jelly at the time," he said, his voice much softer. _

_I shook my head slowly. "I would've been. But the case had sorta followed John to the 5-5. At least that's why I heard he was there. There was some shit with him and Cruz or something, but," I passed a hand through the air, realizing I was probably just confusing him. "Anyway. Miller was manning the case, and Jelly was busy with Finney's shooting."_

"_John?" Bosco questioned, looking up. I wondered if he'd even heard anything else I'd said. I nodded and shrugged._

_He laughed half-heartedly, blinking away a flash in his blue eyes. A flash I couldn't quite place, but it almost looked like jealousy. _

"_Yeah," he mumbled, more to himself than to me. "Where is he now?"_

"_Oh, uh," I shook my head and squinted. "He went to the 7-9. …Why?" I studied his face for some kind of reason. _

"_Just wondering…" he said slowly, but his jaw clenched and eyes went all steely blue and dilated. I noted his quickness in changing the subject, but a sharp pain shot through my temple and interrupted my suspicions. _

"_How are the kids?"_

_I shrugged, suddenly preoccupied with a splitting headache. "Fine. I guess. I don't see Charlie much."_

_He nodded. For a long time we were silent. Whenever he glanced off at someone else, or down at his hands, I'd study his face. He didn't wear the bandage anymore, since it had healed for the most part. But the scar was just as visible – thick, spider-like lines of burnished, traumatized skin. I wondered if it would ever really fade much. _

"_I can't," he started suddenly, catching me off guard when he glanced up and our eyes met. I looked away as quickly as possible, but it was too late. He'd caught my gaze and had now reached a finger to his cheekbone, tracing the lines of tortured flesh. I sucked in a breath, feeling guilty all over again. "Have any visitors until the trial," he finally finished, seemingly having to use all of his energy to get the words out._

_I frowned in confusion, waiting for him to elaborate._

"_I mean…" he sighed in frustration. "They tell me I can't have visitors until after the trial starts, and then, only with whoever has already testified. Something about witness tampering, I guess."_

_I didn't move. I hardly breathed. It made sense, but for an entire month? I was supposed to wait a month, and then however long after that it took them to put me on the stand, before I could even –talk- to him again?_

"_Bosco, this is –not- fair," I whispered, feeling tears sting the back of my eyes, and my throat tighten. I pointed down at the table, referencing Five Points as a whole, and stating each word slowly and angrily. "You have been in here for almost four months. When they arrested Cruz, they only gave her one month until trial!"_

_He just shrugged, smiling, but in a sad way. "Courts are backed up, I guess."_

"_That's bull."_

_He shrugged again, his voice. "I'm a flight risk, they say."_

"_What?" My tears have now found their way from burning the back of my sockets to creeping under my lids and trickling down. _

"_Hey," he said, his voice still quiet and uncharacteristically weak. He put on his best 'things could be worse' façade. "Least they didn't send me to Rikers, right?"_

_I just stared back through glassy eyes. _

_I watched the clock behind him as our last hour ticked away. Out of routine, the visitors slowly rose and said their goodbyes. The motionless guards sprung into action, taking and escorting the inmates in the opposite direction. _

_We stood up and slid out of the bench – like we always did. And we stood across from each, about a foot apart, because we weren't allowed to touch. We stood, hands at our sides, just staring, fighting like hell the magnetism between us that threatened to pull us together if we weren't strong enough. We always managed to win, to stay planted firmly apart, and finally, with a nod and a false smile, we'd turned and walk away. We triumphed over that magnetism because we didn't want to lose visiting privileges. But now we didn't have that to lose anymore. In a way, we didn't really have –anything- to lose anymore._

_The pull was stronger now, intense like a hunger. And in a way it was, because we'd been deprived for so long. In all the past visits, at least when we became accustomed to the rule (not accepting of it, but accustomed), our eyes were fixed and never strayed. I remember them being resigned to the fact. But today was different. With nothing to lose and nearly four months of separation, we gave in._

_Our eyes broke their steady gaze and instead frantically searched the room, watching everyone shuffle and be shuffled out, gauging the time we had left. The amount of seconds we had to make a move before we were spotted; the only seconds we had left before the only way we could see each other was thirty-one days away and across the length of some cold, unfriendly courtroom. _

_So in one swift motion he pulled me against his chest and I gratefully accepted him as a crutch. It was reminiscent of the embrace we'd shared at the hospital in February. But this time he was weaker. When I put my arms around his neck I felt the sharp protrusion of shoulder blades instead of muscles. And there was no uniform to rest my head against and hear my earrings clicking against his badge. It was just a thin layer of orange material and it smelled of a strong combination of cigarettes and sweat._

_We stayed like for only a few seconds, but I think it felt like longer, and I was glad. When we finally pulled away he mumbled something about saying hi to the kids, but I didn't quite make out his exact words. I pretended to, though, and in between brushing away tears I nodded. We backed away from each other obediently until it was absolutely necessary for me to turn and avoid running into the door. It clicked shut heavily and when I turned around to peer in through the glass, he was already gone._

_--------------------------------------------------------_

June 27, 2005 - Present day.

"Faith?"

Sully's gruff voice snapped me out of grief induced memory and I nearly lost my balance, stumbling against the stall door until I could stand again.

"You okay?" he asked, poking his head further inside. "We're reconvening in like…" he glanced at his watch. "One minute. An' they're gonna be callin' you up there."

_Thanks for reminding me._

I took a deep breath before saying "Okay," but it didn't come out half as strong and resolute as I'd planned, or expected. He pushed the rest of the way in.

"You don't look so good."

I shake my head, effectively shaking away his concern. "I'm fine…I was just thinkin'."

"About?" he asked, but it was hardly a question. More like a low mumble. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Too much," I said, suddenly speaking fast. I tossed the paper towels I realized I was still clutching ever so tightly, into a nearby trash can. One missed but I didn't pick it up. "I think too much." I blinked away what I thought would be my last tears for time being, and changed the subject. At least, a little bit.

"Where'd you get her?"

"Excuse me?"

"Virginia Dell," I said, shaking my head. "I mean, I know you and Davis know her, but I don't remember where you said you knew her from."

Sully frowned. "To be honest, Faith, I don't really know her. Ty went to school with her," he seemed like he was going to stop there, but he must have seen the uncertainty on my face. "She's his age. She's not as green as she looks. This isn't her first case. Remember that O'Connor case in Queens? Had the guy nailed for a double homicide. No family, no alibi, no good feats. You know what the jury said?"

"We're hung?" I guessed, rather dejected and unenthusiastically, as I proceeded to wash my hands…again. I recalled the case, but I couldn't quite remember the outcome.

"Not guilty," he said sharply. I looked up.

"By what, insanity?"

"No, just 'not guilty'."

"How…" I began, but he cut me off.

"Beats the hell outta me, too, but when Ty told me it was her that got Jon O'Connor strolling around Queens a free man, we had to get her. His wife and kid are six feet under. Double jeopardy. He'll never go down for it. Ever."

I turned off the water and shook my hands into the sink, and then, not bothering to dry them on towels, smeared the remaining water on my blues. _The hell, right?_

"So, what, now we're hiring defense attorneys that free killers? I don't want Bosco walkin' around with O.J. stigma."

Sully looked like he always did when he was making at point. Agitated, but excited about making you realize he did, in fact, have a point. "Look, Faith, I'm not sayin' I like what she did. But it's her job. And we need someone like her right now. We need all the help we can get with this. Bosco needs it."

I was quiet for a moment. "His plea…you think that's his best chance?" I finally asked.

"I don't know," Sully shrugged, in his usual gentle growl. "It could go either way. The way it's lookin' right now, if he get's a 'Guilty' he's lookin' at life. Or death. If he changed his plea, he could cut a deal. Probably get twenty years. Parole. Maybe fifteen if he's lucky. But he'd have confessed to a felony, Faith, he'd never get back on the force."

I laughed bitterly at the logic. "Well, what good will it do him to be able to go back to work if he's serving a life sentence?"

Sully stared, using the door jam to support himself. He sighed heavily. "I think it depends…"

"On what?" I asked, my voice now just a squeak.

"Whether he'd rather do the time, or get out and not be…not be a cop. I think we both know the answer. Besides, I don't know what he told you in Five Points, but Virginia didn't tell him to plead not guilty."

"What?!"

"She's smart from what I hear. But no matter how smart they are, no D.A. is gonna risk not takin' a deal in a case like this. There's no way."

I chewed on my bottom lip, closing my eyes and willing myself to disappear. I wasn't sure where I wanted to disappear to; I just knew I wanted to be gone - gone from that bathroom, from June, from everything and preferably back in the past. To some mundane, routine shift where me and Bosco's biggest problems were traffic citations and where to spend our 10-63.

I opened my eyes to a clicking. Sully was impatiently tapping his watch. "Come on," he motioned, pushing the door open. "Thirty seconds. An' I gotta get back to Davis. His stomach isn't takin' this well. I'm the only thing talking it out of emptying itself onto the court floor. And if we have one more recess in such a short time I'm gonna confess myself to get this over with."

I laughed, for the first time since…well…I can't remember. But I laughed, just for a second, and Sully smiled half-heartedly, leading the way out.

--

We'd almost gotten to the door when I felt my feet growing heavier and heavier. I almost felt myself being pulled away from the entrance. I welcomed the young voice that interrupted us. _Anything to delay the inevitable._

"Mom?"

"Em?" I turned around to my daughter, who was striding up toward to Sul and I. "Where's your brother?"

She folded her arms. "Been staring out the window down there ever since he ran out," she said quietly, shrugging. "So, do you need me."

_Charlie. _I'd nearly forgotten about him running out. In all the chaos, I'd forgotten how traumatizing the whole thing had probably been for my kids.

"Mom?"

"Oh," I shook away the intrusive thoughts that kept impeding my words. "No, baby, not…now. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have made you come here, Em."

"No, we want to—I mean, I don't know about Charlie, but I wanna help. I wanna testify. If you still need me."

I nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. My daughter was probably one of the most important 'witnesses' we had. I was grateful she didn't have a change of heart, even though I secretly felt bad about all the details I was keeping from her. "We do, definitely. I just don't know the order, 'cause, uh, they changed it. It could be tomorrow, or next week."

She nodded, processing what I said. "Ok," she shrugged. "That's ok."

"You'll wait with Charlie, then? It shouldn't be too much longer…"

Again she nodded, slowly backing up and then retracing her steps. I sighed. _What am I dragging her into?_

Sully had his hand on the handle of the heavy wooden doors in front of us. I suddenly resumed that weighted sensation. I couldn't move.

"Is he in there, Sul?"

"Who?" he scrunched up his nose. "Michael Walker? That son of a bitch won't be back in here today."

"Not Walker, Sully! Bosco!"

"Oh," he grunted, looking down and shaking his head. "He wasn't when I first came in. Before I went to get you. Seems like a ritual to do it after everyone else is in their, doesn't it?"

I nodded, getting teary-eyed all over again. "Yeah…why do they do that?"

"Shockvalue?"

I sniffed. "It works."

From the corner of my eye I saw him nod indolently.

"Uh, I can't," I said, squinting my eyes at the sudden barrage of images that began flashing before me. "I can't go in there, again, Sully."

First I saw blood, lots of it. It was brighter than in real life, but it was definitely blood. It was on the carpet, the tile, on Bosco's clothes, in the shower. Then it was on me, my hands, my jeans. I went from sitting on that hospital bed at Mercy, to falling…endlessly falling into blackness until I hit cold water. Freezing water. In a second, the water was gone and I holding a gun. There was more blood, just as pinkish crimson as before, and it had dyed a pool of water before me. Donald Mann's loud cackling reverberated around me, but I couldn't see him. I could just hear him, his cackles, and his promises to Cruz just before he died. Before I killed him. I felt cold again, more cold water. And I struggled, trying to breathe. My lungs were at their max, though, the coldness expelling every last breath I had. The next scene brought me air, thankfully, but only more pain. And more blood. It was still on my hands and my jeans. I was kneeling in it, in front of Bosco, on the bathroom floor, searching for a wound of some sort. I thought he was bleeding out. My own screams interrupted me. I kept screaming, frantically flailing, feeling myself being dragged across cold cement. I saw a knife, and I kicked it down. It danced across the concrete making earsplitting sounds and glinting even in the total darkness. I couldn't see Bosco any more, but I finally heard him tell me it wasn't his blood. Mann's laughter succeeded through all of the scenes, still echoing evilly in the background. I was _still_ screaming. The knife stopped clacking and came to sudden stop. I heard a click.

And finally, the freezing metal of a 9 milimeter pressed against my temple silenced me.

----------------


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes: I'm filling in some blanks in this chapter, so there's a lot of jumping from the past and present. If you haven't read the previous chapters this probably won't make much sense! ) Also, I know that in trials, the prosecution goes first. But for the purpose of this fic, let's just throw that technicality out the window ;)**

**------------------------------------ //**

It took me several long seconds to snap her out of whatever flashback she was going through. Her eyes were glazed over and wide with fear. She was shaking, almost convulsing, and I reached out the hand that I didn't have on the door and tried to stabilize her. She blinked wildly, finally coming back to the present, and, it seemed, to safety.

"You okay?" I asked for the second time.

She hesitated, looking around, panicked…before nodding. "Yeah, Sully, I'm fine…" She swallowed. "Fine… I just…"

I knew she wasn't really okay – she was far from it – but it didn't override the fact that she had to testify, and she had to do it resolutely. "Faith you have to go in there!" I took my hand off of her should, content she could now stand on her own, and motioned to the door. "You have to do it. You have to go in there and get on that stand."

She was silent, hardly nodding as she inched closer to me and the door. "Okay?" I asked hopefully. "You can do this, okay? Real slow."

She nodded gratefully, but tentatively…fragile as glass.

-------------------------//

Sully was right about have only seconds to get back to the courtroom. I'd reluctantly left him at door and was shuffled up to the stand pretty soon after.

"Your Honor, the defense would like to call its first witness, Detective Faith Mitchell," Virginia had said, in her usual, young, excited voice. It wasn't exactly unwavering, though.

"Detective Mitchell," Judge Harrison had immediately stated, gazing across the room until I stood up.

The room was big, but not huge, so I don't know why it felt like it took forever to reach the front and climb up to the right of Judge Harrison. I smoothed my blues, messed with the buttons, and twirled my 5-5 lapel on the way — my anxiety not-so-cleverly disguised.

I tried to keep myself poised as I sat down, but every pair of eyes in the room were on me. The room was somewhat emptier. A lot of the people who'd been sitting next to me, beside or across from me, were all witnesses or potential witnesses, so they had to leave while I gave my version to the remaining occupants.

Lin was perched rather professionally in his seat, at his table, several rows in front of Walker's immediate family. He looked completely prepared, and it only sufficed to make me feel even worse about Virginia.

I bit my lip and kept my gaze on the back door as long as I could. I knew once I shifted my eyes, I'd lose control over where I looked altogether. And if I looked too far to my right, I'd break. I hadn't looked at him yet, per the advice of Sully just before he'd held open the court door for me and all but pushed me in. It seemed kind of harsh at first, but it knew it was because he knew it would be the end of any calm testimony I could give. So I kept my eyes locked on the doors, or more specifically, the large bronze handles of the doors. Despite this, I could still feel the cold, burning stares of Walker's family members on me, and see them out of the corner of my eyes. As if the impending questions I'd have to answer weren't enough, the stares brought everything back, and one-thousand-fold in intensity. They gave me that push that sent me, in every way except physically, back to that day…

Jelly had been preoccupied with some junkie shooting involving little Finney. I hadn't really cared, because it meant I'd be working with Miller again, and in all honestly, we just worked better together than Jelly and I did, especially after the Jeffrey case. Anyway, Miller had had a double homicide in Central Park, and another body had shown up three blocks away the following week. We were at a standstill for a few days, but we'd finally gotten a few leads and were making progress.

---------------------------------- //

**February 7, 2005  
138 days before trial**

"You'll call me when you get there?" I asked hopefully, watching my daughter grab her sweater from the back of the chair.

She nodded, but not before replying with a smile and rolling her eyes. "Mom, it's only ten o'clock. Don't worry so much."

I smiled faintly and shrugged. "That's what I'm for," I reminded. She was off to Fred's again. Normally she'd just go over there for the weekends, but he and Caroline were going to Colorado to see her family and she insisted Emily come and check out the colleges. Emily promised me she wasn't interested in leaving New York after high school, so I begrudgingly let her go. She said she was just excited about getting out of the state for a little while, and so was Charlie. Skipping school was probably another incentive.

"See you in a couple weeks?" I asked, hugging her, silently cursing Fred, and silently murdering Caroline simultaneously. She nodded, and several seconds later she was gone. I wandered into the kitchen, preoccupied with thoughts of the kids and the case Miller and I were working on, when the sound of scratchy music started from somewhere in the living room.

_I don't mind spendin' every day  
Out on the corner in the pouring rain…  
Wait for the girl with the broken smile  
Ask her if she wants to stay while…_

I dug my cell out of my purse, wondering when on earth I'd changed my normal ringtone to some song that sounded only half-familiar. It wasn't until I'd open my phone and said hello that I realized it probably hadn't been me, and I laughed aloud.

"Hey Mil—John, sorry, I…"

"You gotta come to the station."

"What?" I squinted, not as if that would actually help me better understand why I had to rush to the House on my rare day off.

"Uniforms in the 38th just found a body. Same M.O. It's gotta be our guy. He's moving."

"The 38th?" I asked, rather confused. "If he's moving, you wanna hand it off to detectives there?" I should have known that was wrong thing to say. After the Jeffrey case, I knew how committed he got to his cases. He would never hand it off to anyone.

"No," he said, specifying. "He's moved from the 38th, Faith. The body they found tonight has been in decomp for weeks. We're going over there now to put the pieces together. So to speak."

"We're following this thing to the Bronx?!"

His voice was flustered and kind of annoyed at my objections. "Just get over here," he demanded before the line went dead.

"Hey Bosco," I called timidly, walking up to the desk. He had just slammed the phone down and whirled around, looking all kinds of pissed-off at his new-found title of desk clerk. I inwardly gave my sympathies to whoever had been on the other end of the line. Telephone etiquette never was his strong suit.

His face turned and the lamp beneath him illuminated the side of face, making the scars the bandage was unable to hide all-the-more prominent. "Really coming down out there," I mentioned, pulling back my hair that sheets of rain had succeeded drenching in just seconds. It was pretty warm outside for February, but it had been raining all day, and at random intervals, pouring.

"Yup," he replied sharply. We knew there were problems when we initiated conversations with comments on the weather.

"When are you getting back on the streets?"

"Tomorrow," he announced matter-of-factly. "Me and Sully." He made a point to emphasize it was him and Sully.

"What are you doing here?" he asked finally, his voice low but accusing. The same tone he'd used when I wouldn't agree to help him cheat his way back out on the streets. He'd managed to re-qualify without me but Lieu insisted on keeping him on the desk for a couple weeks. "Detective?" he prodded when I didn't answer.

I wanted to avoid an argument, so I just replied in the same quiet voice I'd greeted him in. "The serial killer is taking us to the 38th precinct," I told him, shrugging and half-rolling my eyes. There was no doubt that I wanted to solve the case, but lately I'd felt out of place behind the gold badge. I didn't really have the motivation to chase the case around the entire city.

"Huh," he answered, listening, but completely uninterested. I was kind of surprised when he continued. "Us being…?"

"Faith?!" John was at the top of the stairs, pulling on his jacket. "Give me fifteen minutes, I got the Lieutenant from the 38th on the phone. Then we'll go." I nodded up at him before he disappeared again, watching Bosco turn to look in the same direction and then turn back to me and nod his head hard before glancing down at a stapler. I guess I didn't need to answer his preceding question.

I was exhausted from the spiteful tension between us since he'd stormed out of my apartment and slammed the door. I was even more exhausted from all of the anger and malicious comments he directed at John when he didn't even know him. He was even rude to Jelly on several occasions for no obvious reason. Then he'd look at me as if he wanted to make sure I knew how much he hated the two men who'd done absolutely nothing to him, and as if I should know why.

"You know," I spoke up, my voice a little louder than before, and this time somewhat bitter. "I never asked you to."

I didn't realize how hard it would be for me to finish that sentence. I shifted my weight to my other leg and waited.

"What?"

"At my apartment a few weeks ago, when you said I should do that for you, that I should shoot for you," I pointed to my eye in reference. "Because you—…" I couldn't say it, I realized. I couldn't get those last two words out. When I tried to, I just found myself staring at the patch on his cheekbone and I felt too guilty to even bring up the topic. I figured he could fill in the blanks, though, so I skipped ahead and continued. This time my voice shook. I averted my eyes from his at all costs, looking down at my soaked tank top and jeans and shivering. "But I never asked you to."

He stared at me coldly, and squinted as if trying to understand. I couldn't tell if he was confused or if he just couldn't believe what I'd implied.

"I mean, I didn't want you to do that," I persisted. "I didn't want you get shot because of me. I didn't want you to do that."

"You don't get to decide that!" he shrieked suddenly, and took a step back as he came as close to the side of the desk as he could. "You don't just…get to decide you can die!"

_So much for avoiding an argument._

"You can't do that, Faith!" he continued, raising his voice. "I had to stand there, and I-I know it wasn't for more than a second or two," his voice shook just as mine had. "But it felt like forever, I was just standin' there watchin' the…guns…and you were right there…" He put his hands together as if to demonstrate the proximity of me to the weapons, like I needed to be reminded. "Right there. Just right…" he shook his head, hard and slow, closing his eyes as if it were all too painful to remember. I didn't know those few seconds had lasted so long for him. I'd had no idea.

"An' I was thinkin' I wouldn't get to you in time. You were right there…right there, but all they had to do was pull the—…"

"Stop," I ordered, refusing to be presented with all the grim possibilities of that day. As if it hadn't offered enough.

"No, I won't stop!" he shouted.

"Then keep your voice down!" I shot back, but hardly any quieter than him. I glanced around at several people whom we'd drawn the attention of.

"Like hell!" he continued, following the direction of my eyes to everyone who'd stopped and was staring in our direction. "Why don't you tell them all what you said, Faith! That I should have done nothing!? That I should have just stood there?!" He lowered his voice slightly, but only for two words: "No way."

The door swinging open behind me interrupted him. Sully and Ty entered, equally soaked, leading a prisoner in behind them.

Sully stopped and looked between the two of us suspiciously.

"Hey, Faith," Davis greeted quietly before following his partner's glare.

"Hey Ty," I replied, trying to ignore Bosco's imperious stare still focused on me.

"What are you doin' here anyway?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sully spoke up, still shifting his eyes between Bosco and I. "What _are_ you doin' here? Aren't you off today?"

"I uh," I started, but Bosco's eyes were burning into me more and more as each second passed.

"What she's trying to say is that her and Lieutenant Miller have some Detective business to conduct that doesn't concern us uniforms," he announced, finally breaking his gaze and turning to Sully and Davis.

"Bosco!" I scolded, snapping my head up. "John got a break in the Central Park murder case," I explained to them, before Bosco rudely interceded once again.

"John. Right," he pushed a finger off his head as if he'd 'forgotten' to address him the right way. Sully and Ty exchanged glances and raised their eyebrows.

"Will you get over it already, Bos?!"

"No, I won't!"

"_Fine!_"

"_Fine!_"

Ty flinched. "I'm…gonna go put him in holding," he told Sully, taking a breath. With that he pulled the prisoner along, shaking his head before disappearing.

"You can go with him, Sul," Bosco suggested, ignoring the phone as it rang impatiently.

Sully scoffed. "Are you kiddin'? This is just starting to get good!"

Bosco glared at me before finally turning to pick up the phone and bark "What?!" into the receiver.

Sully turned to me again, "Anyway?"

"Oh, right," I shook my head, trying to regain my train of thought. "They found another body in the Bronx, so we're heading to the 38th. They think they're, uh, related."

"No kiddin'," Sully commented.

I nodded, biting my lip. "So, you and Bosco tomorrow?"

"Yeah…"

He succeeded in making me feel bad that I'd had the slightest thought that perhaps Bosco wasn't going back out on the street, and had just said that to spite me.

"Ty's gonna be with Finney again until Bosco gets a new partner."

"What's he think of that?"

"Bosco?" Sully raised an eyebrow.

"No…no. Davis."

"Oh. Him and Finney get along pretty well, actually," he nodded, almost sadly.

"That's good," I said. I didn't really know if it was, but I didn't know what else to say. Bosco and I splitting up was effectively splitting everyone else up too. I didn't really have any words to fix that.

"Go further, jagoff!"

We both turned to see Bosco slamming the phone down again. He looked up, innocently. "What? They told me to go to hell!"

Before either me or Sully could say anything, Swersky appeared at the top the stairs. "Is there a problem here?" he asked, glancing between the three of us.

"No, boss," Sully announced quickly, trying to preserve the peace. "Not here."

"Then what's all the yelling? Faith? What are you doing here?"

Cue Bosco answering for me again.

"Following a case out of jurisdiction!" he announced in accusation.

"10:40," Sully announced even louder, looking at his watch as he attempted to civilize things. He plastered on a smile. "Think Ty and I are gonna do some paperwork and then get the hell outta dodge. Night Lieu."

He turned and lumbered off in Davis' direction. I think he was actually glad to hear Bosco and me communicating. Fighting may not have gotten us far, but the cold shoulder we'd been giving each other hadn't made much progress either. And if we were speaking, we were making some progress, which meant there was the prospect of solving problems, and Sully was all about solving problems.

Swersky just nodded at him before turning back to Bosco and me for an answer. Bosco had his back to him, but must have known he'd resumed his icy glare.

"It's fine, Lieu," he called, slowly looking up at me with narrowed eyes. "The detective here was just leaving."

Lieu shook his head, looking at the two us pitifully. But, satisfied we'd keep our voices down, he turned away and sauntered off.

I waited a few seconds, making sure he was completely gone, just in case my subsequent words incited yet more shouting.

"Why did you do it?" I asked, this time I moved closer to the desk and looked him right in the eyes. I hadn't done that for a long time.

"What?" he snapped.

"The detective here will leave, she just wants to know why."

He was quiet for the longest time. Finally he shrugged and spoke softly. "You…have kids. A husband. Or…at least I didn't know about Fred at the time," he looked away, blinking furiously. "You had everything to live for."

I kept my stare a few more seconds, but as soon as my eyes began to water, I turned and left.

I'd rushed into the locker room, my tears unwilling hold off any longer, and pulled off my drenched top. I threw it on to the floor angrily, and then glanced around. It wasn't quite shift change yet so the room was empty and silent.

I stared into my locker. My vest sat on the top shelf, and my uniform hung messily beneath it, both looking painfully abandoned. There was nothing else. I pushed the two articles out of the way anyhow, hoping I might find some shirt to wear that was actually dry. I yanked my uniform down as my searched turned up nothing, and kneeled down, collapsing in front of my locker and crying harder into my hands.

------------------------------ //

**June 27, 2005  
Present Day**

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the clerk asked obligatorily, drawing me out of my painful memories and back to the courtroom.

The words were familiar and mundane. I'd heard them and agreed to them a dozen times before. I prepared to slide my hand off the Bible and put my right one down. "I do," I answered firmly.

"Please state your name and occupation for the record."

I did as I was told, and when finished, I adjusted nervously in my seat and prepared to lie.

-------------------------------- //

I'd watched her walk in, slowly, and make her way toward Davis. There was a space beside him that Sully wasn't occupying at the moment. He patted it and she nodded gratefully before sitting down. There were considerably fewer people behind Virginia and me, now. They were all out waiting their turn to testify; and if they gave half a damn about their futures, then they were probably reconsidering.

I kept my eyes locked on her as Virginia stood up and announced her name. I kept them on her as she stood up again and gingerly made her way to the stand. I kept them on her as she swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

She never looked at me, though, and I knew why.

I finally broke my gaze, ignoring Virginia's previous order not to let my eyes wander around the courtroom – more specifically, not to stare down Walker's ex-wife, as I had allegedly done on a number of occasions. But I didn't like how the bitch was staring at Faith, I figured if I she caught my eye I might actually succeed in scaring her into re-evaluating her attitude. She was tough, though. She stared right back at me, not blinking, not crying, just staring coldly and vengefully, sometimes accompanied by more stares from several people near her that I didn't know. I gave up eventually, usually about the time a juror saw me. I shrugged and shook my head. It wasn't my fault the lady had married a rapist.

I listened to Virginia ask for Faith's name and occupation, and I silently willed things along faster. Everything took forever. I'd already waited for the trial for fourth months, in jail no less, and now they were spreading it out over weeks, and the damn senile judge took a recess every ten minutes. If things kept going the way they were, I would be a hundred by the time the ordeal was over and the verdict wouldn't mean shit.

"How are you connected to this case?" Virginia asked, starting her usual show of pacing and clasping her hands together. It was repetitive, but at least it toned her down a little made her look less like some over-enthusiastic grad student and more like an actual attorney. I settled into my seat, dreading the onset of questions and their answers and fearing cross-examination.

"I'm the defendant's partner," Faith began, causing me to look up. Her voice was uncharacteristically irresolute. "Was," she corrected, switching her sight from the door to Virginia, and I felt an ache in my throat all over again.

"For how long?"

_Twelve years, nine months, twenty-two days, and eight hours. But who was counting?_

"Almost thirteen years."

Virginia nodded. "That's a long time," she observed.

_No shit! Sully! You really picked a winner! This girl couldn't get Mother Teresa out of a jam even if her life depended on it._

"It is," Faith agreed, nodding once. I could tell she thought it was a retarded observation, too.

"You were with the defendant during some time on the day in question, right, Detective?"

"That's correct."

"In fact, at one point you were at Angel of Mercy Hospital, correct?"

Faith nodded. I could see 'the day in question' coming back to her, and I shuddered as it came back to me, too. Everything – the hospital, the alley, the blood, Cruz.

"Yes," she said, realizing a nod wasn't good enough for the court. Under routine circumstances, she was a pro on the stand. I guess this wasn't so routine. I wished I could take the stand in her place; I wished to God she didn't have to relive everything all over again.

"Tell the court why you were there, as a patient."

I closed my eyes, anticipating her answer and cringing before she ever gave it. I couldn't see the logic in making her go through everything again. Virginia had told me the prosecution was going to use what happened as a motive, which wasn't exactly hard to figure out or anything, and that proving it wasn't enough motive would be the hardest part of the trial. But still… to go through it step by step just seemed like torture, even though I knew it was supposed to help establish a timeline or something.

I opened my eyes, watching her blinking away tears as she tried to stay strong, and the longer she hesitated, the more my heart broke.

I thought back to before 'the day in question' as everyone had been calling it for four months. I thought back to the night before it, because that's what was significant. That had been my chance, my chance to stop the bastard, my chance to prevent the whole disaster. And I had failed miserably.

------------------------------- //

**February 7, 2005  
138 days before trial**

"You had everything to live for," I finished, shrugging, and lying through my teeth. I wasn't lying about that, specifically, she did have everything to live for. But I was lying about the reason itself. I had looked away, the only thing I knew how to do when I lied, and when I finally turned back to face her, she was hurrying off to the locker room.

I turned away, forgetting for a second the several pairs of eyes still probing into us. I glared at few of them, turning my attention to the stairs where Jelly had appeared, clutching coffee, as usual.

"What?!" I snarled. "Don't you people have _any_ thing to do?"

Jelly shrugged, heading back up the stairs, shaking his head and mumbling something that sounded like 'drama'.

I pushed the locker room door open cautiously, only halfway, still not exactly sure what I expected to accomplish by going inside, or even what I could do.

_You could tell her the truth._

Of course I could. My mind was full of suggestions; they just didn't come with how-to instructions. I mean, what about me? She hadn't even just said 'no' to my request, she had the nerve to go on and say there were other jobs for me at the department. Like I was supposed to stand behind a desk for the rest of my life, push papers and return verbal insults into the phone all shift. I was at a loss at how things had changed while I'd been in the hospital – how she had moved on, without me, and it seemed, relatively easily at that. And how she acted like she didn't know me – like she thought it was actually plausible to think I could do any other job than be out on the streets.

When I didn't see her near the sink, I pushed the door open wider, finally catching notice of her crouched in front of her locker. 'Her locker' was actually a charitable title considering she didn't use it much anymore. She kept pretty much everything she needed upstairs now. I hardly even saw her in here anymore. In fact, the only time I did was when she passed the desk on her way in and out of the House.

I finally stepped in completely, letting the door swing shut behind me. She must not have heard it, or me walking up to her, right away. The rain was louder now, pelting the window as it had been doing for the better part of the day, and I guess it drowned out the clicking of the door and the scuffling of my shoes, because it took her a few seconds to look up.

I watched her for a minute as she wiped her hands over her face, as if wiping away the tears would eliminate all evidence that she'd been crying. I noticed her vest hung haphazardly from the top shelf, and her uniform lay in a heap near her hands, half of it still hanging from above. There was nothing else. I looked down and closed my eyes, thinking of what to say and how to say it, before deciding to give myself a little longer to come up with the courage, and then heading toward my own locker. I opened it quietly, pushing things on the top shelf out of the way until I found another one of my NYPD turtlenecks folded, at least by my standards, in the corner, and pulled it down before routinely slamming the door shut.

She was standing up when I approached again, struggling to untangle her soaked top, like it was still reasonably wearable or something. I outstretched the hand that clutched my shirt, watching her desperately try to avoid my eyes at all cost as she snatched it and pulled it on. I just stuffed my hands into my pockets and watched her close her locker, then brush past me toward the sink.

"How are the kids?" I finally asked with a small sigh, turning around and trying to break the painful silence somewhat, maybe continue things civilly. She shrugged, turning on the faucet, splashing her face, and then turning it off again.

"They're in Denver come tomorrow night," she announced, her tone insinuating how I would have known had we actually been speaking to each other for the better part of the month.

"Denver? Colorado?" I queried. She had grabbed and towel was drying the water from her face, unable to see the puzzled look on mine.

"Fred's taking them for like two and a half weeks. Whats-her-face apparently has family there or something," she looked disgusted.

"You're letting him take them?"

"Well, what can I do, Bosco? Emily's seventeen, I can't really make her stay. And he has custody of Charlie, or did you forget that while you were arranging to have someone shoot for you?"

"I didn't cheat, Faith!"

"Whatever," she shook her head, throwing the towel on a bench.

"Look," I said, once I realized she had no intention of making this easy. "I lied out there, okay," I shook my head, watching her watch me in the mirror. "Back there. I lied because I never thought about what I said. Charlie or Em," I shook my head again, "Or…or…Fred," I continued shaking my head as my words started to fail. "You know I didn't think about him. I was selfish; all I thought was…ah…I mean…I just. I guess…me. I thought about me." I looked down at the floor, stuffing my fists deeper into my pockets. "Mikey was gone, Ma was in surgery with her throat crushed. God knows I didn't think she was gonna live. And there…there you were. Right there, right in the front, like a damn target. And you were all I had left. So…so…I just jumped. I didn't think about anything else."

Her eyes were glazed over now, shiny with the formation of tears, as she processed my words. I couldn't tell if the realization was hitting her, or if she'd known and was just acknowledging it.

We were both silent for a long time.

"No, you didn't…" she finally mumbled, quietly, as she started past me. I reached out, curling my hand around her wrist to stop her. She pulled away angrily, but stopped leaving. "What about me?"

I tilted my head, perplexed, "What?"

She blinked, new tears forming in her eyes and following the trails of old ones down her face. "You act like you didn't have a choice, there. In the hospital. You tell me you had to wait…even after you woke up…for someone to tell you if I was alive. But then you throw it at me when I won't shoot for you. But what about me?"

"Faith, I—," I attempted to apologize for my words that night. I never was able to rationalize them, not even to myself. And I wanted to explain how I hadn't meant them, but she was quick to interrupt.

"No, Bosco! What about me?! Did you _ever_ stop to think that maybe that isn't what I wanted? That—that I didn't want to roll you over and see bullet holes in your neck and your face…everywhere!? That I didn't want to wait there and watch you bleed to death? That I didn't want to have to tell your mother, after everything that happened with Mikey, that she was probably gonna lose her oldest son too….because of me? Because he was protecting _me_? Or listen to the doctors tell me, you were never gonna walk again. Or talk, or feed yourself. Or that I didn't want to go into that room every night and listen to machines keep you alive? Or that when I finally—_finally_ got you back, that I didn't want to help you get back out on the street when you weren't a hundred percent, so that it could happen all over again? But that then…then this time someone would call me and say, no, he didn't make it? This time he'll never wake up?!"

By now tears were streaming down her face, almost in sheets. I felt them stinging the back of my own eyes, but I rebelled, fighting them away with all my strength. "I'm sorry," was all I managed to croak out.

She nodded slowly, looking back up at me with jade, watery eyes. "Me too."

Miller burst in the door just before we fell into another deep silence.

---------------------------- //

**June 27, 2005  
Present Day**

The courtroom had gone cold and dead-silent. There was no sound, no clock-ticking, no whispers, no white noise, even the clicking of Virginia's heels had stopped. It was just pure silence. I must have been completely consumed by my reflections of that February night because I didn't snap out of it until I heard Virginia repeat the question, her voice urgent. Judge Harrison was now staring at Faith with beady eyes, as was everyone else. I did a quick scan behind me. Everyone's eyes were focused on the front of the courtroom. The jurors looked staid, most of them looking on with blank stares. They were difficult to read. Walker's family, friends, and colleagues weren't, though. There expressions were deadly, and then didn't seem to hold back any hatred for whoever was testifying for the defense. For the first time I focused on Walker's partner. He looked calm, in his blues, relatively distanced from Walker's ex or mother, several rows back, which I found sort of strange. He sat off to the side. He was only of the ones whose eyes were moving, and nervously, at that. They shifted from Faith, to Virginia, to the floor, his hands, whatever was in sight. I followed everyone else's eyes to the front again, trying to recall what Sully had told me about the man, the day I'd found out he had known Walker.

Judge Harrison looked ready to jump in and demand she answer, but she broke the silence before he had the chance. I closed my eyes, preparing myself for her unstable words, silently praying it would help prepare her, too.

Sometimes I wondered if maybe none of us would be in the courtroom had I interceded in someway – delayed her leaving, or just done _something,_ besides just stand there. Sometimes I wondered where we'd be if the entire nightmare had never happened…Maybe if I had made certain she heard my last two words before following Miller out of the locker room that night.

----------------------------------- //

**February 7, 2005  
138 days before trial**

"Faith?!" Miller shouted impatiently, and I cringed as he went on complaining about he'd looked all over for her. The moron had just now thought to check the locker room?

"We gotta go…like now!" he urged, overlooking the fact that she was crying. Overlooking the fact that anything was wrong at all. He glanced from her to me, expectantly. He gave me a neutral look – it wasn't a glare, or a smile. It was just expressionless; which was actually more civil than I should've expected, considering I'd been all but nice to him since we'd been introduced. And normally, I'd have instantly shot back, demanding he shut the hell up and wait, give her a few minutes, piss off, go to hell, the whole nine yards. But tonight I was defeated, too shocked by her previous words to lash out even at someone I hated.

I just shifted my eyes away from him and back to her. "You better go," I said softly, shrugging and nodding toward the door. Gradually, our gaze broke and she began to follow him out, glancing over her shoulder as she reached the exit.

"Be careful," I mumbled. But she was already gone.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note** - I'm sorry the updates are so few and far between! I won't even bore you with excuses. ;) Without further adieu, here's chapter 15... And thank-you for all your kind reviews:)

--------------------------------

The rain had still not found the decency to let up even after we arrived in the Bronx. There didn't seem to be much promise of it stopping any time soon, either. Sheets of the cool water still poured onto the car with force, effectively having caused a virtual whiteout for the length of the ride. The only guide to our destination had been, as was for every other New Yorker, the taillights in front of us. In fact, John's refusal to slow down had found us nearly broadsided by a semi as we merged on to the parkway. I was unsuccessful in convincing him that and that he could take his time, seeing how the decomposing corpse wasn't actually going anywhere.

Yellow tape still lined the crime scene just outside Morris Park when we pulled up, but we saw only flashes of squad cars and uniforms passing by as the windshield wipers flicked back and forth, and even less when John cut the engine and the rain was free to pound and linger on the glass.

"Were they seriously waiting for us?" I wondered aloud as we undid our seatbelts. "I mean, it's been a several hours since they found the remains, right?"

John spoke for what was only a countable time during the drive. He'd started off questioning me about Bosco and finally asking what was up his ass as if that might explain why he'd been such an unrelenting jerk ever since his return. My curt response, informing that it wasn't his place to judge, had succeeded in silencing the Crown Vic for the remaining miles.

"Pretty sure the coroner came and left. But I wanted to see the scene myself," he opened the door halfway, not in the least concerned about the massive flood he'd just welcomed inside, paused, and then added: "If that's alright with you."

"Sure," I rolled my eyes, but he was already out of the car and slamming the door behind him. I begrudgingly pushed open my own door, thinking about how I would become even more drenched than I already was, and that suddenly being partnered with Jelly didn't seem like such a painful idea anymore. It had always been Jelly's unflinching lack of drive that had teed me off, and yet now it was John's assiduous zeal to solve each and every case regardless of whether or not the killer had specifically adorned the body with a note and addressed it to him. I suppose I should have appreciated his impartial passion, but I just wasn't feeling especially passionate lately.

I had been outside no more than thirty seconds, searching for John's not-so-obvious navy blue jacket in a sea of darkness and gray, when a miracle happened. It stopped raining. Not gradually, but in one second, it all stopped, as if the clouds had finally moved on in one swift motion or had literally expelled the last of its water onto to New York soil. I heard several people mumble 'finally'; a few crime scene techs looked too engrossed to even have noticed. Either that or they had resigned to the fact that it had probably washed away all tangible evidence. A handful of uniforms shouted a slew of derisive thanks to the heavens.

"Yokas!" John's irritated voice rang out amongst all the other people rushing past. He threw his hands up, insinuating I was taking my sweet time.

Now, thanks to the crime scene spotlights and flashing squad lights and lack of rain, I spotted him ducking under the police line, and I followed after, though he didn't seem to have any intention of waiting for me. He quickly engaged himself in conversation with a sergeant, and the two motioned to the disturbed area where the remains had been discovered.

I started to ask if the ME had come up with a time of death yet, when he sharply interrupted with another comment to the sergeant.

"If you came out here to work solo, I can just go home," I snapped, feeling my anger rise. It had been fairly easy to flare since the argument I'd had with Bosco. "Because it is my day off, you know." I folded my arms as he glanced over with gray, misty eyes.

He paused, opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. He ran a flustered hand over his graying hair, then put a hand on my shoulder and turned me away from the sergeant.

"Look, Faith," he started. "I'm sorry about…earlier. I shouldn't have said anything. You're right. It wasn't my place."

I shook his hand away, not about to object. It hadn't been, after all. I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes as I recalled Bosco's words. And I silently willed the rain back down, if only because it would allow me to cry silently and let my tears blend in with the downpour.

"I need you on this case," he insisted.

"Fine," I acquiesced, tossing my hands up. I figured if I did go home, I'd just worry sick about the kids in Fred and Caroline's potentially-haphazard care. She had lost Charlie before, in his own city. God only knew where he could wind up in Color-freakin'-ado. Or at least, I'd construed it in my own head to seem as if she did, if only because I was so angry at the time. "Whatever," I finished, giving him a surrendering look.

"Good," he replied, his face softening. And I relaxed a little, hoping we'd stay on good terms. The ease of our partnership had gone out the window with the mounting ill will between him and Bosco, but at the very least I hoped we could keep things civil. It was a shame really, because we made a relatively good team during the Jeffrey case, or so I'd thought. Regardless, I was now determined to see the case through, so we could quit precinct-hopping and resume some sense of normalcy. Perhaps the whole detective charade wasn't exactly my thing. I thought I'd like being able to see things through – to feel like I was actually providing a more long-term solution, but it turned out I was just too unaccustomed to piecing the puzzles together. I'd felt more progressive as a beat cop. Go figure.

"I'm gonna get the ME to fax us everything on the body. If it's our guy, we'll find out for sure. So far the MO matches."

"So far," I mumbled. "Who knows what the monsoon took with it. Besides, this body is weeks old."

"A little optimism, huh?"

I just smiled meekly.

"Lieutenant Miller!" the same sergeant was shouting and motioning for him. I wandered off several feet to where the body was found, as John set off in the direction of his name.

_This is going to be thrilling, _I thought sarcastically, looking at the useless piece of saturated earth before me. My skeptical thoughts on how the case would turn out, or rather_, wouldn't_ turn out, were temporarily pushed away when a couple voices caught my attention. I spotted two uniforms together a dozen feet away, both glancing in my direction at random intervals, the taller one more than the other. I frowned to myself, keeping my eyes on the ground for the most part, shifting them occasionally and straining my ears to eavesdrop.

"Good fucking God, Jake," the taller one whined. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he squinted at his watch. "You picked a fine fucking day to pick up a shift for both of us. I'll take OT where I can get it but this is fucking ridiculous, standin' here for hours, stringing tape, taking orders from gold shields. It's bullshit is what it is."

His partner, or at least who I'd assumed was his partner, turned around to face him, kicking at the dirt as he did. "I was not alone in 'picking up shifts'," he snarled, but his voice was calmer and more articulate. I cringed, trying to imagine how they could coincide well. "Just move in to the god-damned apartment and stop bitching about your commute already."

"It's a fucking journey from 42nd, Jake!" the taller, stronger one replied in a hushed bark. "I'm waitin' for Mike anyway. He wants my old apartment then the bastard is doing some heavy lifting and helpin' me get my stuff out. Doesn't do shit in Riker's but bulk up anyway."

"Least he can't _shoot up_ in there," Jake mentioned. "All he did before."

"Hey, Jake, drug use is a far cry from agg batt and impeding an investigation. You know if they could've swung it they'd have put him away a lot longer," he looked almost offended as he faced his partner again, who simply shrugged.

"How much longer you gonna carry this chip on your shoulder?"

He muttered something back about revenge, then nodded toward me. It didn't unsettle me as much as it made me snap my head down so it wouldn't be so glaringly obvious that I was eavesdropping, if only because John had failed to spark my interest in the case even as I hovered over the remaining remains. I shrugged at my thoughts about the case and how dead-end it seemed, all the while shaking away the strange feeling I'd gotten from the uniforms' looks. When, suddenly, said two drenched uniforms strode up beside me in one swift flurry of side-by-side navy-blueness.

"Not quite your size, is it?" asked the one who reached me just steps ahead of the other. I heard his loud, confident voice just milliseconds before I turned, meeting him face-to-face.

I tilted my head in confusion, though smiled politely at the two men, waiting for one of them to elaborate.

"You're shirt," the first, and taller one, added. I followed his stare down to the oversized NYPD turtle neck that had originally hung loosely from me, but thanks to the rain was now clinging in twisted wrinkles around my waist, and covered up much of the top part of my jeans. I'd nearly forgotten I had on Bosco's shirt.

"Oh yeah," I laughed, shaking my head as I remembered. "Yeah, it's a…uh…" I nodded, glancing back up and meeting his brown eyes for a second time. They were a deep copper and matched his hair, which looked like it was normally short and tousled, but due to the rain was now matted down and still trickling with water.

"My partner," he said suddenly, breaking our gaze and leaving me no time to finish explaining the size of my shirt. He shifted two thumbs to the man next to him, a couple inches shorter, but equally as handsome and as poised. The man smiled genuinely.

"Jake Lee," he stated, and then shrugged.

I nodded politely; suddenly somewhat unsettled by the impervious glare the taller one was giving me. Said unyielding stare finally broke when he noticed me looking expectantly at him, waiting for him to introduce himself. I was squinting, trying to train my eyes to adjust to the darkness so I could make out the letters on his badge. But the combination of night and panicky light sources just reflected off of the silver, making it impossible to read.

"Oh," he said, not lowering his voice in the least. He smiled broadly, revealing a set of white almost perfectly-aligned teeth, and outstretched his hand. I shook it obligingly as he announced his identity.

"Matthew Walker."

**------------------------------- //**

She'd left me standing in the locker room, my hands still clenched into fists inside of my pockets. I'd stood there for a long time, taking in her words. I'm not sure how long I would have stood there had Swersky not poked his head in a little while later.

He'd asked me if I could man the desk until two, and I'd just shrugged and agreed to the OT, too distracted to dwell on a response, but not really regretting it once I had. I could always use the hours, I'd justified. Besides, I'd be back on the street the next day, which made my last night of desk duty somewhat bearable.

"You're still here, Bosco?" Sully's voice was gruff and slightly surprised as he lumbered down the stairs and toward me.

"Lieu needs me 'til two," I tossed my hands up, "Figure what the hell, right?" I spotted him raising a styrofoam cup to his lips, and immediately dove to intercept it.

"Bosco!!" he shrieked, his eyes wide with disbelief and downright disappointment.

I shook my head and tossed it into a trashcan, contents and all. "Jelly make that?"

He shrugged and nodded. "So?"

"So I just spared you a massive Bayer-wouldn't-help myocardial infarction, Sul. Man puts more sugar in that crap than a call girl could give you during a power out," I bowed my head astutely.

"Well I _like_ sugar!"

"Sorry," I mumbled, half-apologetic.

He sighed heavily, and for a second, I seriously thought I may well have ruined his night. Finally he looked up. "You see Davis?"

I motioned toward the door, "He left twenty minutes ago. Why?"

"I'm tryin' to get him to talk to Monroe," he explained, leaving me narrowing my eyes, baffled.

"Uh….why?"

"Because, Bosco, she's pr…! She's…nevermind. They just need to cross this IAB bridge and move on."

"What about me?"

Sully furrowed his eyebrows, "What about you?"

Dismayed, I threw my hands out, "What about her throwin' Cruz in Rikers to get the shit beat outta her for takin' out Mann…for…for killin' Mikey and almost killin' me and Faith and Ma and Davis and you and, damn, Sul, should I continue?!"

He looked at me, distressed, but said nothing.

"Why are you defending her?" I persisted.

"Bosco, it's complicated. A lotta crap went down while you were in the hospital."

"So tell me! Why won't anyone tell me? It's like this god-damned freaking secret all around here everyday. I feel like I have a contagious disease!" It was true – whenever I tried to bring up the Mann situation, everyone scattered.

He shook his head, almost sadly. "….Just talk to Cruz, okay?"

"Cruz?"

"Well," he corrected, "I would say talk to Monroe but you can't get through a single sentence without calling her a rat, a bitch or both noun and adjective combined. I'd also tell you to talk to Faith but you two can't do that civilly either, so the next in line is Cruz, who, ironically, you actually coincide with better now than either of your ex-partners. So, Bosco, take your pick."

I hesitated for a second, flustered by his words. "I will. Next time I see her."

He nodded slowly and then pushed himself off against the counter. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Land of the living? You bet."

He scoffed and turned for the door, "More like land-of-paperwork's-a-bitch."

I smiled weakly, and he stopped at the door and looked up one last time, before leaving me to shift-change and the obnoxious ringing of the phones.

"Hey, Bosco, tomorrow?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm driving. And you owe me a coffee."

**-------------------------------------- //**

"Uh…Faith," I started, stuttering. "Faith Yokas…er…well…it's…yeah," I decided I really didn't need to explain what my last name was, wasn't or would be and wind up going off on some marital tangent to a couple of strangers.

"Yeah," the taller one said, half-interrupting in his thoroughly resolute tone. "I heard your partner calling you," he nodded in John's direction. "That's actually why I came over here. Your name…it's uh…familiar."

I hesitated, staring into his brown eyes as if they would help me figure out his motives, or at least offer some reason why I felt so instantaneously captured by him, and yet, at the same time, an unease.

"You know Boscorelli? And Cruz?" he asked. When I didn't answer, he continued. "Jake and I just ran into them a couple times…," he explained, seemingly rather skilled at making everything sound simple. He shrugged, "That's all."

His partner said nothing, but I could tell by the way he looked at me, that it wasn't "all". And it didn't explain why _my_ name had been familiar to him.

"Been out here for hours," he spoke up, once again drowning away my thoughts with his imperative voice. He motioned between him and his partner. "Crime scene sure as hell takes their sweet time." He glanced at the crime scene techs with disdain. "We pick up shifts when there's a serial killer around," he laughed bitterly with his partner as if they hadn't exactly made a wise choice on the overtime. "Guess this is what we get."

I just nodded slowly, still switching suspicious glances between the two.

"So what brings you all the way out here from the 55th?" he asked, equally as loud, and I started to answer until I remembered I had no indication of my precinct anywhere on my clothes. My words slowed into a weak, broken phrase.

"We're actually working this case," I said, nodding, as if to make myself seem more assured.

For the first time, he just nodded back.

"Kind of a long drive?" Lee asked, and I felt relieved at the onset of a less-intimidating voice.

"Not bad," I said, somewhat abruptly.

"You should try commuting," the overbearing one said. "I live on 42nd."

"Ouch," I agreed, trying my best to keep a polite front, when all I felt like doing was interrogating. I convinced myself not to get carried away, and just ask Bosco about it when we got back to the House. It was probably not a big deal anyway.

"I work midnights, though," he clarified, "So it's not really that bad."

I nodded and smiled, not really caring to inquire why he worked so far away.

His eyes traveled downward, quickly turning our gaze from borderline friendly to downright awkward. I shifted, hoping to deter his wandering sight. John's voice was a welcome break in the sudden silence, and I felt myself relax when the man was forced to take his eyes off me and look up.

"Matt?!" John cried, squinting and speaking somewhat questioningly. The two shook hands solidly, both grinning broadly. "How are you, man?" all three seemed to say in unison.

I felt like there was some clandestine Six Degrees game going on that I was left out of, and I was somehow the only person in New York who didn't know Jake Lee and, from what I'd gathered, Matt Walker.

"Jake," John nodded, acknowledging Matt's partner, still grinning. He reached out and shook his hand, too. "Long time." They all nodded in agreement. I looked a John expectantly.

"Faith, you remember Matt, don't you? Medal for Valor, 1998. Disarmed a gunman outside Jacobi Hospital. No casualties. Not a one."

_No, I don't._

I just shook my head. "Uh, vaguely," I told them, but I really didn't remember it. I did, however, feel somewhat better about the person standing before me. Maybe it was because he knew Miller, and it suddenly made him seem less suspicious, and less contriving. I began to reevaluate my original stance. If he knew Bosco, it probably wasn't a bad thing. However they knew each probably hadn't been all that spectacular, anyway, thus a logical reason why he had never mentioned him.

I lost myself in a sea of what-ifs and possibilities regarding them as his and John's conversation distanced into a slur of incoherent words. I barely noticed when Lee mumbled something to his partner and then slinked off.

John's voice suddenly became clearer, snapping me out of my thought-induced fog as I realized he was talking to me.

"Looks like I'm gonna be here with the sergeant for a while," he said. "Still waiting on crime scene to finish up."

I nodded.

"He says uniforms brought in a witness a few minutes ago…thinks they might have some info on the vehicle around here just before they found the body."

"Really?" I asked, looking up with a bit more curiosity than I'd originally had. "They at the precinct?"

He mirrored my previous nod. "Yeah," then his eyes glittered for a second. "See? I told you we'd get more. There's always more."

"No you didn't," I accused, laughing. I knew at heart he'd been just as doubtful as me. More determined maybe, but just as doubtful.

"Why don't you go talk to them?" he suggested.

"Me? Right now?"

He glanced between me and the uniforms, "Well…yeah. Soon as CSU is finished I'll meet you there."

I shrugged and frowned, "Okay…" Hey, I'd been a detective for about four months but I'd only worked with John once before. He was easier to work with than Jelly in the sense that we actually made progress, but he also gave off this impression that you could really screw things up for him. Thus, I was apprehensive to go badgering a witness for details by myself. Especially with how fragile and cold the case was becoming. But, John continued to stare at me – expectantly and assured – so I eventually gave in.

I was about to confirm with a 'yes' or something similar, when Walker's voice broke in. He was hard to ignore just standing there, so when he spoke, his presence was beyond evident.

"You know…I could take her," he suggested, nodding toward John. John, who was about the same height and possibly weight, but for some reason appeared much smaller and weaker next to the younger cop. Walker flicked his wrist over but I could tell he didn't actually read the time. "Jake and I are just goin' back about now anyway."

I said nothing at first, just watched the man and anticipated John's response, all the while struggling to keep the unnerving sensation from rising inside me again. _You're being ridiculous_, I scolded myself.

"Yeah?" John looked from him to me.

"Sure thing," Walker nodded certainly before screeching for his partner. Jake was few dozen feet away, nodding obediently to some lieutenant before heeding his partner's obnoxious calls and striding toward us.

"We're going in, Jake," he informed Lee, tossing a shoulder toward me. "Taking Yokas so she can talk to a witness."

Jake frowned. "Matt, CSU is hardly done here. Besides we have like thirty-minutes left."

Walker motioned to the display around us, "It look like they got a uniform shortage? We have to do paperwork, anyway. You could try doing some for a change."

"Fine," Jake obliged, shrugging.

"Alright, thanks a lot, man," John announced, giving Walker a pat on the shoulder. He reached for Jake's hand once more. "It was good to see you guys!" Then he turned to me, "I shouldn't be much more than an hour here, Faith. Get what you can out of the witness."

I nodded reflexively, feeling strangely helpless as he walked off.

"Take it easy, Miller," Jake called out, receiving a lopsided wave as John tossed his hand up behind him.

"Let's get outta here," Walker announced, leading the way to their car. I followed hesitantly.

"Look," I started, as their squad neared. "If you guys need to stay, I'll just take John's car. He can just catch a ride with the sergeant."

Jake glanced down nervously at his own watch while rounding the car toward the passenger side.

Walker tossed a shoulder in his direction, "Ignore Mr. By-the-book, here," he sneered.

I feigned a small laugh before catching sight of Jake's serious, not-so-amused expression. And I would have said it was there because he just wasn't impressed with his partner's insult, but the expression had been the same each time the two made eye contact. It was as if they were harboring some dark secret, and Jake's eyes were like discouraging, warning coals that Walker seemed to have no intention of heeding.

"Really," I continued, too confused by their faces and by Walker's demeanor to really let the discomfort in me surface. I didn't usually do that. I didn't usually get too caught up in desperately trying to decode a situation that I forgot about, or ignored, my gut feeling. "You don't—…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Walker started, a wide, almost sarcastic smile forming, he opened the back door and all but ushered me inside. "Besides, you don't even know your way."

He left me no time to answer before shutting the door and climbing in the driver's side. No time to say I could probably figure out how to get there. No time to say I had a map. Or GPS. Or anything else that might leave him with no reason to waste his time. But perhaps I was just being paranoid. Maybe he was doing it as a favor to John. Maybe he really had had enough crime-scene babysitting. Maybe he did have an inconvenient commute ahead of him. Maybe.

Jake climbed inside next to him – and somewhat reluctantly at that. I didn't understand why someone who apparently knew two people I trusted, left me feeling disconcerted, and trapped.

And as we pulled away, I felt I'd abandoned to the crime scene of disseminating uniforms and detectives, the one thing that saw me through alive to the next day on the job. My instincts.

**---------------------------------------- //**

**Present Day**

I'd never been under as much pressure before, as much as I was under sitting on that stand – the eyes of friends, colleagues, enemies and total strangers burning into me like fire. All of them, Judge Harrison and Virginia included, staring me down for an answer.

I thought I had been preparing myself for the moment for over four months, but I realized, as everyone watched impatiently, the tension mounting, I was no more prepared than I'd been the day Bosco had been arrested. My plans for lying were easier, well, _planned_, than put into action. I could recant what happened to me, sure. My goal was to take away the prosecution's motive; give them no way to make Bosco look like he'd been out for revenge. Make it look like he'd had no reason to retaliate. After all, he was pleading not guilty. It didn't mean he was saying he didn't do it, it was actually saying that it simply couldn't be _proven_ beyond a reasonable doubt. But, at the last second, I realized that state-renowned James Lin would come barreling back with the medical records and a slew of nurses who would testify to exactly why I'd been at the hospital that day.

So, sitting there with beady eyes of all different colors, expressions and from all directions, on me, I frantically tried to decide which path to take. I was trying to decide if I was going to cave and go with the part of me – the angry side – that longed for everyone to know what Walker had done, or take my chances and pretend like it'd never happened.

_Take the motive away,_ I repeated to myself, silently, over and over. That was the goal, right? I took a deep breath as Virginia repeated herself again, and I felt my mouth go dry. At that instant, I did something I'd vowed not to do the moment I walked inside. The one thing Sully, in all his jaded wisdom, had advised me not to do. I looked at him. Quickly at first, darting my eyes toward him, and then back to Virginia or to Lin, or to the floor. Quickly, because I was scared to concentrate on him – afraid I'd crumble, because it would be too much for me to see him in his state, or to be reminded of how crucial my testimony, at least one version, was, and what it might mean for him if I screwed it up. But finally, I found the courage to look longer, to actually find his eyes with mine and keep the contact for more than a few seconds.

He stared back with what I knew was all he had left of his evaporating confidence and hope, and he was giving both to me when his gray eyes seemed to deepen to blue again and he bowed his head in a single, slow, reassuring nod.

**--------------------------------------- //**

"I'm outta here," a familiar, exhausted voice cried out behind me. I turned to see Cruz trotting lithely down the stairs, tossing her jacket over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Bosco."

I just shrugged and nodded. We'd been on pretty civil terms since I returned. There was still the strange barrier I felt between us – like she was keeping some terrible secret from me. To be honest, though, it felt a lot like that with everyone. Still, my earlier, brief talk with Sully left me wondering, so I called out to stop her.

"Yeah?" she turned around at the door.

I leaned over the counter, folding my arms. "What's, uh," I ran a hand over my mouth as I tried to find my nerve to bring up what had silently been deemed unapproachable territory around the House. "What's up with this whole Mann thing? Sully said…"

She looked weary, creases forming around her eyes as she frowned. As far as I knew she'd been working since noon.

"The less you know the better."

I slammed a fist onto the counter, "No, Cruz! I need to know the truth, dammnit!"

She stood, staring at the floor, chewing her lip. I sighed heavily, "Look," I continued, my tone softer. "Please…just explain it to me? Nobody else will, Cruz."

"What version did he give you? Sullivan?"

I frowned, confused. "Version?"

"There's three versions, Bosco. Only one of them actually went down. I'm betting you've only gotten the two that didn't."

I stared, processing her words but getting nowhere. She opened the door, looking as though she'd already said too much. "What the hell that does that mean, Cruz!" I shouted after her. "Huh? Where the_ hell_ that does that leave me!?"

The only answer I got was the slamming door as it swung shut, and I had no time to even close my eyes in frustration, or possibly decide to chase after her and demand a more useful answer, when my phone vibrated. Its silence was a welcome break from the monotonous ringing of the phones I'd been answering all day. I pulled it from my pocket and stared at the lit up screen, immediately clenching my teeth at the identity.

I spent too long deciding whether or not to answer: It rang only twice and then was silent. I sighed, flipping it open and punching in her number but getting only voicemail. I said nothing, and instead, snapped it shut and discarded it deep into my pocket – the anger from our previous fight, and even a tinge of concern, going with it.

**--------------------------------------- //**

The ride was silent for the most part, and with random intervals where Jake would shoot his partner that same cautioning glare that left me suspicious, and then Walker would either ignore his burning eyes, or glance over equally as challenging, leaving Jake to finally shake his head in defeat and turn back to stare out his window.

But Jake didn't give up trying to get whatever point he was trying to make across, that easily. He stopped for several minutes, but as we neared the House, he seemed to become more restless.

"You know what, I think this is a really bad idea, Matt," he announced matter-of-factly. The hand he'd had his head rested on was now propped up in question.

Walker was silent, his hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, as he steered his way almost methodically toward the destination. A destination, which, should we have parted paths from I'd have no idea because I'd never been to it before.

"I _said_, I think this is a really bad idea," Jake repeated, his voice more strained this time. He must have felt my narrowing eyes on him, because he turned around to face me, looking almost apologetic, and said, "Sorry."

Funny, I didn't get the feeling he was apologizing for his tone or their silent arguing.

"Do I care what you think?" Walker finally snapped, and as he rounded the corner I could see the 38th precinct house fall into view, and an ensuing wave of relief passed over me.

Jake just stared back at his partner with incredulity. I wanted to ask what exactly he thought was such a bad idea, but the polite part of me, the one that believed they were just expressive acquaintances of my partner and ex-partner, didn't want to be nosy and pry. The uneasy part of me wasn't sure I even wanted to know.

Walker pulled the RMP up to the front curb, rather than around to the back where we always went at the 5-5. In fact, he threw it in park but left it running, which only left me increasingly perplexed. In an effort to ease the tension between the two, I spoke up.

"How…how exactly did you know…um," I cleared my throat, even more disturbed at how soon my words seemed to fail. "Bosco?"

They both continued to exchange grave looks. Jake wiped a hand along his jaw anxiously and licked his lips.

Walker's voice finally invaded the silence. It was low and disciplined, "Your real partner locked up my brother during his little stint with Anti-Crime, and that bitch Cruz."

His words shocked me into silence myself. It wasn't that I couldn't accept the fact – I didn't doubt Bosco and Cruz had sent more than a few undeserving skels to prison. Undeserving in the sense that their punishment far outweighed their crime. Still, I'd been almost close to convincing myself their connection hadn't been a bad thing. Now, combined with this revelation and his calculated, icy tone, I was back to my original doubts, and, possibly, even a little scared.

"Wha…what?" I scoffed, and I laughed almost dryly. Maybe because if his brother had been the 'Mike' I'd overheard him talking about, he'd be out soon anyway. The way he'd said it made it sound as if he were dead, or something.

"You knew about it?" Walker asked accusingly, staring me down from the rearview mirror.

I shook my head wildly, "Obviously not. I didn't work with him in Anti-Crime."

"But you knew him and Cruz didn't play by the rules, didn't you?"

I shook my head and shrugged, "I only saw them from a distance," I lied, unwilling to delve into how deeply I knew they'd cut corners.

"I read all about him," he continued just as coldly. "The Dying Declaration, 'Stevie'."

"That was _all_ Cruz," I announced in Bosco's defense. "She set him up."

"But it was your partner's name on everything," he persisted. "His name. They tried to frame my brother for murder, too, like 'Stevie', but he made a scene. Figured if he wouldn't give them names they'd just get him on impeding an investigation. Made up some shit about aggravated battery on a LEO. Got him two years inside. Would've gotten more if they had any more than circumstantial bullshit."

"I—I…" I stuttered, but I really had no idea what I might say. Jake remained silent in his seat, eyes frozen on the House that was so close, yet so unreachable.

"Shut up!" he ordered, his brown eyes still reflecting menacingly down from the mirror. "See, they thought no one would _care_. Thought no one would miss him. Why? Because he had some trouble with drugs back when? He was getting his life together! Had a good job. Clean almost a year! He's somebody's _son_. He's my _brother!_"

I willed the pit in my stomach to subside, but it only worsened. "I'm…sorry…" I said shakily, and with as much sincerity as I could manage. The uncanny parallelism of Walker and his formerly-drug-addicted brother Mike was beginning to unnerve me.

"No you're not!" he shrieked, slamming a fist onto the steering wheel. I winced and leaned back. "Do you know what _happened_ to him in Rikers? Do you?!"

I just shook my head slowly, praying he wouldn't find the candor to inform me.

"Goodnight, Jake," he mumbled suddenly, not looking at his partner. Jake glanced up for the first time, scanning from Walker to me, and back again.

"Matt…" he warned

"Now."

"Look," Jake hissed, shoving a finger toward him, "It was more than _two years_ ago!"

"Get out of the fucking car, Jake!" Walker's voice rang out impatiently, but his self-assurance was suddenly almost non-existent.

"Look," I began, somewhat frantic. I stared at the inoperative door handles. "I really need to talk to that witness. Lee, if you could just open the door…"

But his partner ignored my requests, pushing the door open and climbing out. He turned and leaned back in. "You need to _stop_ and think about this, Matt," he advised, before glancing regretfully at me, and then backing away and slamming the door.

"Wait!" I called, fighting back the panic and struggling desperately to remain calm - I wasn't supposed to panic. I was a cop. I was supposed to be in control of the situation. But somehow, suddenly, I felt the opposite. Maybe it was because of that unsettling feeling I'd had right from the start - that suspicious doubt deep inside that alerted me when things didn't add up. A doubt that I had ignored, and now, was a reality. So I watched, stunned, my eyes blurred, as the car jolted back into gear and the buildings began to whir past. I peered through the bulletproof plexiglass to find Walker's eyes were on the road again. Frantically, I shoved my hand into my pocket, digging out my cell phone. I flipped it open and punched in the first number that came to mind. The first number I always dialed when I was in trouble. The first person I called when I needed help.

The screen displayed 'connecting' for a couple seconds, but the hollow battery icon in the upper right corner flashed ominously before the phone let out a single chirp, and then went dead.

**----------------------------------------- //**


End file.
